


Car Trouble

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Background Newt/Anathema, Background Relationships, But Mostly Comfort, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Gentlethirst, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mechanic Crowley, Meet-Cute, Past Drug Use, Professor Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Slice of Life, im here for aesthetic purposes, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 102,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: Aziraphale's car breaks down so he takes it to the first mechanic he can find. From there, his mundane life changes drastically as he finds himself befriending the man fixing his car.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3736
Kudos: 4024
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Human AUs, Bittersweet Good Omens, Good Omens Human AUs, Ineffable Delights to Sink Your Teeth Into, Ineffable Humans AU, Ineffable life, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Kelley's Kindle Fics, Most Favs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a fever dream of an AU that hit me like a sack of bricks  
> please enjoy this snippet of a start of something i don't understand

Aziraphale drove his guttering car out of the faculty parking lot, resigned that he would, in fact, need to finally take it to a mechanic or else suffer a far worse fate. A fate such as waking up to drive to campus and finding his car unable to start.

The nearest mechanic to the university would have to do. His sputtering engine had barely started when he had turned the key in the ignition. Hellfire Auto, quite a name.

Trying not to feel too ridiculous, he pulled into one of the parking spots and left the car running as he trotted into the garage. There was no external office to speak of so all he could do was enter, with no little amount of trepidation, through the open garage doors and call out for someone.

“Ex-excuse me,” he said after he cleared his throat. He felt unnecessarily nervous. He supposed he didn’t like being so out of his depth. Surely, he was about to speak to some workman who knew far more than he did about the topic at hand. He wasn’t used to not knowing the most about a subject. He might need to get used to it. A good lesson in humility, he supposed.

Somewhere in the shop, a soundsystem boomed the strains of Queen and Aziraphale heard the clinking of metal on metal from the car to his right.

“Is anyone here? I thought perhaps you were open but if it isn’t a good time -”

Aziraphale’s voice died in his throat when a man slithered out from under the car in front of him, his back on some sort of strange wheeled board. He moved to kneel on impossibly long legs as he leaned under the car, using a pale arm to pull out a tin of something or other. Aziraphale watched the play of lean muscles in his arms and back as he moved. The man unfurled to his full height, plucking a pair of folded sunglasses from the neckline of his black vest and slipping them on his slightly crooked nose. His hair was dark in this light, almost shoulder length and half-tied back above his ears. Even in the dim lighting, Aziraphale could see the sharp cut of his jaw, the planes of his cheekbones, a smear of something black across one only accentuating how absolutely devastating that face was.

Aziraphale felt a bit weak at the knees if he was totally honest.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, rubbing at his hands with a dirty rag and oh, those hands, long, slim, capable-looking fingers sliding over the rough material. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat again. “Uh-uh yes. My car, you see, I’m afraid it’s about one bad day from falling apart. And I do rather need it to...well, not fall apart.”

The man’s eyebrows tipped down into a scowl. How someone could be so expressive when a third of their face was covered by black lenses Aziraphale had no idea.

“Right,” the man said dubiously. He tossed the rag on the hood of the car he was working on and gestured for Aziraphale to lead the way. And then the man started walking towards him and Aziraphale thought he might have a stroke. Those _hips._

“Ye-es. I parked out here. I was afraid to turn off the engine you see.” Aziraphale let out a thready laugh. “I thought it might never start up again.”

The man snorted but didn’t say anything, ducking inside the car and killing the engine. He waited a beat before turning the key over and was greeted by the same guttering sound that had followed Aziraphale everywhere.

The man sniffed and looked up at Aziraphale from where he was half slumped in the front seat, legs sticking out awkwardly and yet not looking awkward at all. “Bum alternator I think. Might need to take a look at your timing belt as well.”

It all seemed nonsense to Aziraphale but he nodded. “And do you - well, do you know when it will be ready?”

The man slipped out of the car sinuously and in the fading daylight Aziraphale could see his hair was not black but rather the darkest red, turning lighter at the tips like they had been kissed by the sun. The man bit his lip and cocked his head in thought. “‘Bout a week? Best I can do.” 

Aziraphale sighed. A week. That was a week on his bike or a week on the bus. Oh well. It was now or never. “I suppose that will have to do then. Do I leave it here or…”

“Yup,” the man said, tugging the keys out and handing them to Aziraphale before leaning, somehow proprietary, against the flank of his car. “Get everything you need out of there and leave the key.”

Aziraphale huffed and reached to open the back door, but the man was leaning against it. He cocked one eyebrow and to Aziraphale’s horror, he found the expression _charming_. “Excuse me please,” Aziraphale said, all politeness.

The man held up his hands in a half mocking, half apologetic defenseless gesture and stepped away far enough for Aziraphale to retrieve his messenger bag from the back of the car.

“Do you have a card or something?” the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement made the muscles in his arms look more prominent for a moment as they flexed and settled. “I’ll need a way to contact you. For the estimate.”

“Um, yes, here,” Aziraphale said, fiddling with the front pouch of the messenger bag and pulling out one of his calling cards. The white cardstock looked pristine in the man’s dirty fingers. It made something in Aziraphale’s belly clutch.

“Doctor Aziraphale Fell,” the man read aloud, eyebrows going up. “Professor of Classics. What’s a fancy bloke like you doing with a car like that?”

He jerked his head in the direction of Aziraphale’s - admittedly - rather old and beat up car. “It’s perfectly serviceable” - the eyebrows rose higher - “Or it _was_.”

The man shook his head as he palmed the card, slipping it into the back pocket of what looked like obscenely tight jeans. Then he held out his hand to shake. “You can call me Crowley. I guess I’ll be working on your car.”

Aziraphale slipped his hand in Crowley’s - work roughened fingers, the catch of oil against clean skin - and felt his stomach skip. Unfairly attractive really. 

When he finally pulled his hand away, he managed a smile that he hoped wasn’t noticeably shaky. “You wouldn’t happen to have a phone I could use? And a number for a taxi service?”

Crowley’s eyebrows were doing that thing again. Perhaps he simply looked perpetually surprised. 

“Er, yeah. In the office. Don’t you have a cell phone?” he asked, face half-twisting as his lip curled up in disbelief. 

“No, actually,” Aziraphale said, ready for some sort of snide comment. “I find them awfully distracting.”

Instead, Crowley laughed, once, a barking thing, disbelieving but not cruel. “Alright, yeah. Inside and to the right. The light’s on. There should be a directory in there too. If you need.”

Aziraphale nodded, willing his heart to slow down because that laugh...the way it spread across Crowley’s face. He was gorgeous.

_He’s hot_ , a little voice in Aziraphale’s head whispered against his better judgment, all slithery and sinful. He chided it. He didn’t think of people as _hot_ , that was reductive and besides...

Crowley slipped around the front of his car and popped the hood, one hand holding it up effortlessly as he peered inside, half-down hair falling about his face as he leaned in to grab something.

Oh, besides nothing apparently. 

With a subtle pop, Crowley plucked some sort of rod out from its hiding place and used it to prop open the hood. He looked up at Aziraphale expectantly. And Aziraphale realized he was staring.

“Ah! Yes, er, the phone.” 

He rushed inside, following Crowley’s instructions and barely got into the office before he realized he wasn’t breathing. 

“Oh good lord,” Aziraphale said, pressing a cool hand to his flaming cheek. That had been utterly unacceptable behavior, ogling the man while he was on the job of all things. Not that Aziraphale would be ogling him anywhere else but it seemed utterly inappropriate in the workplace.

Flipping through the directory with shaking hands, Aziraphale selected the first service he could find, placing a request for a car.

Five minutes. He could do five minutes.

Leaning against the desk, he took a few deep breaths and then stood, squaring his shoulders, ready to go back out there and take his leave. 

When Aziraphale got back outside, Crowley was still leaning over his car, seemingly...poking at things. Aziraphale hardly knew. 

Crowley held out his hand, not even looking at him. The setting sun had cast him in a strange orange light, making his hair look more like fire and his skin gold. “Key?” he asked, before turning back to him.

Aziraphale started - ogling again. “Ah yes.” He unhooked his car key from his key chain and handed it over, pressing it into the curve of Crowley’s palm. “Here you are.”

“Any luck with a lift?” Crowley asked and for a moment Aziraphale thought he might feel the same thread of discomfort that was winding its way through him.

“Five minutes they said. Do you close soon?” Aziraphale asked, the thought of keeping the man at work making him even _more_ uncomfortable.

“Nah, just wanted to make sure you had a way home.”

He said it nonchalantly, mean even, like he didn’t give two figs if Aziraphale could find his way home despite the fact that he was asking after it and very clearly did. What a strange, unfortunately attractive man.

Crowley frowned and then took a step forward, hand coming up to Aziraphale’s face and then dropping back down to his side. Aziraphale’s lizard brain was crying out for him to push Crowley against the side of his car and kiss him until his heart was thundering the same way his was.

“How’d you get oil on your face?” he asked, thankfully forcing Aziraphale back to reality.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said as his hand went back up to his cheek. “It must have been on my hand from when you -”

Crowley snorted, more self-deprecating than anything. “Right. Sorry. Got you dirty.”

“It’s no trouble,” Aziraphale rushed to assure him and then a taxi was pulling up to the curb. He sighed.

“It was lovely to meet you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, politeness winning out over his nerves.

Crowley grunted in response and just as Aziraphale slid into the backseat of the car, hand poised to shut the door, he called after him, “I’ll call you with that estimate.”

Aziraphale refused to think about how his stomach fluttered at the prospect of simply speaking to the man again. This was a business transaction. That was all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the beginning of...something?  
> tags will update with the fic
> 
> I should say that this is super inspired by [Petrichor and Parchment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21121583/chapters/50261702) in that I'm here for the horny for dirty hands (and dirty crowley) aesthetic. If you havent read that, please do. It's amazing.  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok cw time  
> CW: brief and nongraphic allusion to Crowley's past drug use, generally low self esteem and negative self talk including one use of a homophobic slur to refer to himself
> 
> ive updated rating and tags to reflect what i now feel is a fully formed plot in my head. like WTF when does that happen to me? never. i write via aesthetic and concept and yet here we are.
> 
> id also like to take a moment to acknowledge that a popular fic in the fandom (aka [Slow Show by mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395261/chapters/48375457) which if you havent read then what are you doing) features Crowley with a history of drug use, a thing I havent read elsewhere, and I wrestled with the desire to take it out for fear of treading on toes but it felt untrue to the background I'm giving Crowley so instead of deleting it, I'm going to acknowledge potential similarities in theme and stick to my guns

Crowley fished his phone out of his pocket, stared at it, and then slipped back in. Today was not his day to pick the music and so his existential angst was currently being underscored by Britney Spears’s _Toxic_ echoing through the garage.

“Are you going to make a phone call or not?” Bee said from an uncomfortably close distance. Crowley started and then glared at them.

“I’ll make a call when I damn well please,” Crowley grumbled. The professor’s - _Aziraphale’s_ \- card was burning a hole in his pocket and he was _supposed_ to call and give him an estimate, but his nerves were getting the best of him. He just kept thinking about that moment when the professor had walked into the garage, the warm glow of the sunset surrounding him like a nimbus and making him look like something out of a renaissance painting. Like an angel.

“What’re you nervous about?” Bee said, affectionately tapping him on the hip with a wrench. Sort of affectionately. Bee didn’t really do affection but hitting you with a tool was about as close as they came.

“You didn’t meet the man,” Crowley said, bumping Bee back with a swift jerk of his hip. They dodged it effortlessly and turned back to the engine they were steadily dismantling for parts. “He was...he was clever. Posh. Not the sort of bloke you just call up and talk to.”

“It’s your bloody job, Crowley,” Bee said. “You’re not chatting him up.”

Crowley felt the tips of his ears turn red. Bee turned back to him with a decidedly wicked grin. “Oh, unless you _are_. Does little Anthony Crowley have a crush? You fancy him?”

“Shut up.” Crowley bared his teeth and threw a dirty rag at Bee’s face. They caught it easily and chucked it in the rag bucket.

“Call him. It’s business. We need business,” Bee said, tone brooking no argument. It was the same tone they used back when they’d first taken Crowley in. No nonsense. It was a tone Crowley wouldn’t put up with from anyone else. But this was Bee, not some bastard on the street.

Crowley owed Bee his whole damn life. From giving him a place to live to giving him a sodding job and helping him get _good_ at it, Bee was the closest thing to family he had. They didn’t treat him like a freak, an ex drug addict, a queer. Any of the things that made Crowley unbearably nervous to call the posh, clever, adorable professor whose Austin Maestro was currently propped open in front of him because Crowley was none of those things. Crowley had no business looking at someone like Aziraphale twice and yet here he was, heart beating off rhythm at the mere idea of talking to him on the phone.

Crowley took a deep breath and fished out his phone and the card. He carefully tapped out the number and hit the call button, willing away his nerves and failing miserably. The phone rang out three times and during every silence, Crowley almost hung up. Business. _Business_.

The phone picked up.

“Hello?”

Crowley’s heart went haywire. Why couldn’t he behave like a normal person with a crush? Why was it always all or nothing with him? He closed his eyes and tried to gather himself so he didn’t sound like a fool.

“Hello?” the professor asked again, sounding more confused by the moment.

“This is Crowley from Hellfire Auto,” Crowley finally managed and he was pleased that he sounded normal. Nonchalant even.

He turned around and saw Bee staring at him with a steadily growing smirk. They were evil. _Evil._ He glared back and shuffled off to the office for some privacy. He was feeling awkward enough.

“Oh, Crowley,” the professor said. He sounded delighted to be hearing from him. Not that he was delighted to hear from Crowley but surely delighted to hear news about his car. He’d certainly seemed disappointed when Crowley had given him a week for the fix. Well, he was about to be even more disappointed.

“It’s lovely to hear from you. I presume you have news?”

“Yeah, er,” Crowley didn’t know where to start and having Aziraphale actually on the line made his skin feel all itchy. “Since your car’s pretty old, we have to special order the replacement parts. It’ll take a week for the alternator to get in and nearly two for the belt.”

The professor sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, dear. That’s - well, I suppose there’s nothing I can do for it. I’ll simply have to dust off my old velocipede.”

Crowley nearly choked on the laugh that bubbled out of him. The sound must surely have been ridiculous over the phone because the professor was asking, voice full of concern, “Are you alright?”

Crowley coughed into his fist. “Yeah, er, just...velocipede?”

“Oh, I suppose I should say bicycle. My mind is all over the place today,” the professor said.

“Well, if you’d like to give me an email or fax number I can send the estimate over with total cost and completion date.”

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. “Would it be possible for me to stop by and pick up a paper copy? You’re technically on my way home.”

The itch in Crowley’s skin turned into a soft buzzing, anticipation settling sharp around him. “Yeah. Yeah...that’s fine. We close at six-thirty.”

“I’ll be there at six so no worries on that front,” the professor said primly and for a moment Crowley could picture him, exactly as he had been last Friday, pretty gray eyes and soft pink lips as he smiled at Crowley expectantly.

People didn’t smile at Crowley like that. They looked at him askance and then walked faster in whatever direction they were going because Crowley looked like trouble, because he used to be trouble.

“Thank you very much for the call, Crowley, and I will see you this evening. But for now I really must run. I have class,” the professor said in a rush.

“Yeah, ‘course. Don’t want to keep you.”

And then Crowley was staring at his phone, dial tone ringing out as loud as the heartbeat in his ears.

“How did it go?”

Crowley nearly jumped, nostrils flaring as he looked up at Bee where they stood in the office door, leaning against the jamb with their arms crossed. “He’s coming by to pick up the estimate this afternoon.”

Bee raised one eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Crowley said, purposefully shuffling papers on the desk even though he didn’t need to. What he needed to do was print out the estimate.

“Alright,” Bee said with a shrug and then disappeared back into the shop. Crowley sighed.

Bee usually left early. They opened the shop and Crowley closed. A little arrangement that worked just fine for Crowley because he wasn’t much for mornings.

So when 6 rolled around Crowley was alone, lowering a beat up Ford on the lift and utterly unprepared when a soft knock sounded on the metal wall of the garage. He cursed softly and took his hand off the crank, snatching his button down off the toolbox and shrugging it over his shoulders. It covered his arms and while Aziraphale didn’t seem to have noticed his marks the last time - or at least he hadn’t reacted the way most people did, no staring or anything but that was probably because he was polite - Crowley wasn’t exactly keen on showing them off.

“Hello?” a voice asked tentatively. Crowley turned and nearly fell over where he was.

There was the man - the professor - _Aziraphale_ \- he had a tan cardigan tossed over his arm and his shirt sleeves were rolled up showing a tantalizing view of soft muscled forearms that Crowley wanted to bite.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Aziraphale said breathlessly. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water? It’s much warmer than I’m used to and I quite forgot how far the walk from campus was.”

Crowley’s thoughts all slammed into each other as he took in the sweat on Aziraphale’s brow, the pinkness of his cheeks.

_Would you look like that in bed?_

Dear god, Crowley was getting away from himself.

Not trusting his mouth, he jerked his head in the direction of the back corner of the shop. “Cooler,” he said and Aziraphale nodded before walking past him.

Crowley couldn’t help but watch as he plucked a cup from the stack next to the water cooler and bent over slightly to fill it from the spigot. He also couldn’t help but notice the way that arse filled out his trousers. And his _thighs_. He thought he’d be spending the next few days thinking about forearms but those thighs.

Aziraphale took his first sip of water and closed his eyes in pleasure. He parted wet, pink, plush lips and sighed.

Crowley fisted a hand by his thigh and willed away the clutching heat in his stomach by focusing on the rising smell of motor oil that surrounded him.

The thing was that Crowley was rarely attracted to people. He met interesting people, shagged them, stopped seeing them. But whenever this happened, this raw visceral thing, he could never stop it from sinking its teeth into the meat of him. And, glutton for punishment that he was, as much as Crowley wanted to stuff it down into the darkest rotten pits of himself, he also wanted to hold it in his hands like something precious.

Finally Aziraphale asked, “So, this estimate? I believe you printed one out for me, yes?”

Crowley nodded jerkily and walked to the office. Aziraphale followed him inside. He hadn’t expected that. The office was small. It barely fit him in and Bee and Bee was a tiny slip of a thing. Aziraphale, on the other hand, took up space, and in the close quarters Crowley could smell the tang of sandalwood and musk. He wanted to bury his face in Aziraphale’s neck and breathe deep.

He quickly picked up the printed paper and handed it to Aziraphale. “Here you go,” Crowley said. “Should do the trick.”

Aziraphale took it and peered down at it. “Oh dear,” he mumbled before patting down his front and then alighting on a thin pair of spectacles that poked out of his breast pocket. They were ridiculous half-moon things that made him look like a cartoon librarian.

It was adorable.

He bit his lip and scanned over the page. Crowley watched the thin indent of his teeth in that plush bottom lip, watched as he licked over it, and had to jerk himself to attention when Aziraphale finally spoke.

“Ah, I’m afraid I might need a bit of explanation here. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

Crowley moved closer to him, careful not to touch him both for fear of his own reaction and the memory of smudging oil onto that perfect skin. He took the paper back and laid it flat on the desk, pointing out the first line, embarrassed by how dirty his hands looked next to the paper. What must someone like Aziraphale think of him?

“See here’s the cost of the alternator - it’s a bit that runs the electric in the car, works the ignition and some other stuff that’s probably not very interesting to you. Here’s the timing belt. That runs over the alternator. And the last line is hours. An estimate. Shouldn’t be too much trouble. Even though your car’s ancient. You should really think about investing in a new one, you know.”

Aziraphale looked at him and suddenly Crowley realized how close they were standing, both their hips propped against the wooden desk as Aziraphale leaned in to read what Crowley was explaining. Crowley could feel the damp heat of him.

Crowley took an abrupt step back, knocking into the desk chair as he moved. Aziraphale blinked at him in surprise and picked back up the sheet. “Yes, well, the old girl’s served me quite well over the years. Time belts or alternating whatsits aside,” Aziraphale said. Another nervous chuckle.

“I suppose I’ll leave you be. I do appreciate the explanation. It’s frustrating to not understand what one is paying for.”

Crowley followed Aziraphale out of the office, feeling a bit dumbstruck, watching Aziraphale adjust his messenger bag over his shoulder.

“Thank you again, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, sticking out his hand to shake Crowley’s like Crowley hadn’t gotten oil all over him last time.

Against his better judgment, Crowley took it and then he was speaking and couldn’t stop himself. “You walked here?”

“Oh yes. I just teach over at Tadfield. I suppose it’s a bit of a walk the rest of the way home but I should be fine. And I’ll be breaking out my velo - "he broke off and blushed -”my bicycle for tomorrow. I just have to get it down from storage. Which is quite a pain.”

“Right,” Crowley said and he realized he was still gripping Aziraphale’s hand. He released him and said, “Want a lift home?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up and Crowley cursed himself.

“I mean - just an offer. You said it’s warm and -”

“I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out,” Aziraphale said earnestly and Crowley’s heart fluttered at the kind way he said it.

“S’no trouble. Honest. Was about to close up anyway,” Crowley said. Which was mostly true. He’d wanted to do a bit of cleaning but the prospect of driving Aziraphale home was loads better than sweeping the floor.

“Alright, I mean, if you’re sure, it would be awfully nice.”

“Yeah just, erm, give me a minute,” Crowley said, moving to finish lowering the Ford on the lift before returning to the office, grabbing his keys and shutting off the lights. “You ready?”

Aziraphale watched as he closed the doors and followed him out to his old Astra. One day he’d finally finish fixing up the Bentley in his own garage but for now this had to do.

Aziraphale snorted as Crowley turned the key in the lock.

“What?” Crowley asked, chin jerking up defensively.

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head and seeming...fond. “It’s just you teased me so about my car and now I see you drive this and…”

“Well, I keep mine in better shape now, don’t I?” Crowley retorted and where it would normally feel biting and defensive instead it felt playful and his heart started doing all sorts of wonky things in his chest.

“Yes, well, I’m not a mechanic so I hope you don’t hold it against me,” Aziraphale said as he slipped into the front seat of Crowley’s car, messenger bag settled in his lap. Crowley couldn’t help but notice the delicious spread of his thighs, tight under the tan fabric of his trousers. He wanted to put his hand on one and squeeze. Did Aziraphale have sensitive thighs? Did he like them touched, scraped over with blunt nails, kissed, bitten?

Crowley took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition. He hoped the oil and sweat stink of him wouldn’t bother Aziraphale too much on the drive. The man looked perfectly at ease as he directed Crowley through a few intersections.

When Crowley pulled up to the house, it was exactly the sort of place he should have pictured for someone like Aziraphale. It was quaint. It had _shutters_ with a little stone pathway and hedges - which yeah looked like they could use a trim - but it looked like the sort of place a family lived in. A happy family.

“This is me,” Aziraphale said brightly but Crowley thought he heard a thread of hesitation in his voice. Like he didn’t want to leave just yet. But that was probably wishful thinking.

“Nice place,” Crowley managed, peeking out the corner of his eye at Aziraphale who seemed intent on looking at his lap and biting his lip. “You and your partner live here?”

Aziraphale laughed. “No, I’m afraid it’s just me. And my books. And one very sad fern that I think may be on the brink of death.”

That made Crowley chuckle. Nice bloke. Clever. Handsome. All too good for Crowley. But Crowley _wanted_ him. Wasn’t that a bitch of a thing?

“Thank you. For the lift,” Aziraphale said, one pretty hand coming to rest on the seat between them. “It was very kind.”

Crowley mumbled something about it being no problem, too overwhelmed by the sheer weight of Aziraphale’s gratitude to say much else.

“Well, I...suppose I’ll see you when my car is fixed,” Aziraphale said as he put a hand on the door knob, ready to leave Crowley’s car and presumably his life.

“What about your bike?” Crowley blurted out, immediately regretting it when Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed.

“My bike? Oh, my bicycle?”

“Yeah, er, do you need help with it? You said you were having some trouble by yourself and I’m here...extra set of hands and all,” Crowley said, feeling stupider by the second. He was being a creep. Why did he have to be so fucking needy? It was just a crush. He’d forget about it in a few days.

_Except you never do_.

The confusion melted off of Aziraphale’s face. He looked so beautifully relieved that it made Crowley’s breath catch. “Oh, could you? That would be absolutely wonderful.”

Crowley shut off the ignition and thanked his lucky stars that Aziraphale hadn’t sent him scampering to the hills by now.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed Aziraphale up the walk, trying not to be too taken by the way the man’s chin dipped as his gaze flickered nervously between Crowley and his front door.

“Apologies for the mess,” Aziraphale said, turning the key in the lock and pushing open the door. “I don’t often have company.”

The first thing that registered was the scent, that same sandalwood warmth that Crowley had smelled when he’d been a little too close to Aziraphale back at the shop. The whole house smelled like that, sandalwood and old paper.

The paper scent immediately made sense when he stepped into the entryway. Every surface Crowley could see had at least one book on it. When he peered through the door to the living room as he passed, he saw floor to ceiling bookshelves, crammed to creaking with books of every shape and size.

He followed Aziraphale through the hall and through a small kitchen where Aziraphale pushed open the back door and said, “The movers put it up in the shed and it’s quite a pain. I think they were trying to be helpful and since I haven’t had occasion to need it for the last several years, it’s absolutely buried.”

The backyard was almost as idyllic as the rest of the house, surrounded by an old wooden fence, grass a little wild and patchy in places but green all the same. There was even a stone bird bath with a sparrow in it. Aziraphale just lived like this apparently, like something off the telly. Crowley half expected a woman in a dress to appear at the back window and call them in for fresh-baked pie.

He sighed and listened as Aziraphale quietly nattered on about moving in and something about bicycles. Crowley found it stupidly charming. He didn’t like people that didn’t know when to shut up. He liked people who gruffly thanked him for his work and went on their way. But this professor, Crowley thought he might be able to listen to him talk for hours.

And then maybe Crowley could say something back and maybe Aziraphale would listen too.

Aziraphale paused in front of an old blue shed in his backyard and put a hand to his chest. “Dear me, I really do go on. I’m dreadfully sorry. I suppose I’m a bit nervous. I rarely have people in my home.”

“Don’t need to be nervous,” Crowley said, trying to sound comforting but it came out in the typical sarcastic tone that made people glare at him. All it earned him from Aziraphale was an amused glance before he was pushing back his sleeves and pulling open the shed. Crowley tried to see reason as he watched the muscles of his forearms bunch under the light as it caught on the golden fur of his arm hair.

Thankfully, Crowley’s ridiculous thoughts didn’t last long because when he peered inside the shed, he realized the man hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the bicycle was buried. There were boxes, hedge trimmers, a mower, a wheelbarrow - what could he possibly need a wheelbarrow for? - and some broken down dining chairs. But in the back of the little dark room there was a red bicycle, hanging on the wall. Crowley couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“You weren’t kidding about the buried bit, then,” Crowley said, already picking his way over the boxes and sliding around the ramshackle bits of detritus. If he were alone, he’d take off his sunglasses to see better. But he wasn’t exactly in the mood for Aziraphale to see his eyes. They always made people ask questions and he felt threadbare enough in Aziraphale’s presence. He didn’t think he could handle questions.

He paused in front of the lawn mower and turned back to Aziraphale, breath going out of his chest when he saw the way the sunset wreathed him in light, gorgeous and making his pale blonde hair glow. The thought _he’s an angel_ popped back into Crowley’s head, just like it had the first day they met, and he blushed, cursing his blushing complexion as he turned around to continue his journey to the back wall.

Laughing lightly, Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice Crowley’s distress at all. “It would be a strange thing to lie about I think,” Aziraphale observed. “I do have to say I’m very thankful you were willing to help. I’m afraid I’m quite a bit, well, wider than you and I can’t do that slithery thing with my hips to get around everything. It would have taken me a long time to clear this out just so I could reach the back.”

“Unexpected boon of being scrawny,” Crowley said, finally at the back of the shed, hefting the bicycle off it’s rack and lifting it over his head to start the return journey. “Helping professors free their _velocipedes_ from their gardening sheds.”

Aziraphale snorted, mumbling something disbelieving about scrawny when Crowley dropped the bicycle in front of him, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the strain in his muscles. He might do manual labor for a living but that didn’t usually include lifting something heavy over his head while he wound his way through a maze of garbage and landscaping tools.

Some of his hair had wiggled free of the band he’d pulled it back with so he undid it, scooping it back with one hand to secure it with the other. The sun was nearly all the way set so when he looked back at Aziraphale, his face was half in shadow, but the side illuminated by the porchlight was stained the faintest pink as if he were blushing. He was biting his lip again and for a breathtaking second, Crowley thought Aziraphale might actually be _looking_ at him.

“Right,” Crowley said, breaking the silence because if he stayed in it for a second longer he’d say something stupid like _get a drink with me_. Or do something even stupider like back Aziraphale up against the door of the gardening shed and kiss him until they were both drunk with it. Neither of those things would end well. “You said you haven’t ridden this in a couple years?”

Aziraphale grabbed the handle bars and wheeled the bicycle to the back porch. “Yes, but I remember how perfectly well.”

“Not why I’m asking, angel,” Crowley said and then bit his tongue on the slip. Aziraphale didn’t say anything but he was turning redder by the second so Crowley kept talking, trying to bury the stupid word under a flow of even more words. “Just - have you checked the air in the tires? The gears? Bicycles need maintenance too.”

The wind seemed to go out of Aziraphale’s sails and he let out a little petulant groan which, to Crowley’s horror, he found unbearably cute.

“Of course. Nothing can be easy these days,” Aziraphale said, kicking the tire with frustration. He reached up and undid his bowtie with deft movements, the ends unfurling down his shoulders. Crowley wanted to snag the end of that tartan slip of fabric, feel it under his fingers, and then maybe…

“Let me just take a look, alright?” Crowley said, dropping down to inspect the general set up of the thing. He cleared away some cobwebs and smashed an errant spider, but the parts all seemed to be in working order. The tires though were very clearly flat.

“Do you have a tire pump?” Crowley asked, scraping his now more oily and cobwebbed hands down his jeans as he stood.

Aziraphale stared at him, eyes wide. Fuck. Those eyes. Crowley couldn’t even begin to describe their color. When he’d met him the other day, he would have said gray but today they were a bright green blue that Crowley couldn’t mistake even through the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

“Tire pump? Do you have one?” he repeated, unsure as to why Aziraphale was staring at him. He slipped his hands into his pockets, trying to look nonchalant and attempting to take up less space.

Crickets had started to chirp around them as the sky turned from orange to purple to deepest blue. It was night and Crowley really should go.

“No,” Aziraphale finally said, a touch too loud. He looked at the ground and shook his head. “I don’t think I have anything like that.”

Crowley leaned the bicycle against the siding of the house and sighed. He was gone wasn’t he? Two handshakes and a set of puppy dog eyes and Crowley was gone.

“Look, I’ve got one at home. I can bring it by in the morning. If you’d like.”

Crowley had always been like this. He’d meet some guy and think he was the greatest thing, think that oh, this time he feels the same way, we’ll be happy. Never was. Never worked. Crowley always hoped for the best, but all it ever earned him was another broken thing inside him, another thing to add to the list of reasons why Crowley wasn’t worth anything and never had been.

Just a rotten thing to toss away.

The shellshocked look on Aziraphale’s face disappeared, only to be replaced by an expression Crowley could only call _beaming_. Until that very moment Crowley didn’t think people could _beam_ in real life. But it was like a fucking light had clicked on and every watt was directed at Crowley.

Then the light dimmed. “Oh, I - I couldn’t put you out like that,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “I can take the bus or - or walk.”

“It’s fine. It’s on the way to work for me.”

If you counted five blocks over as _on the way_.

Aziraphale bit his lip again but whatever effort he was making to contain the whole glowing thing he could do seemed to fall away.

“Is 9 o’clock alright?” Crowley was pathetic.

“Ye-yes,” Aziraphale said and then his hands fluttered in front of him like maybe he was about to reach out and touch Crowley but had thought better of it.

Wishful fucking thinking. Crowley was good at that. Getting better by the second.

“Best, er, get going then,” Crowley said. “S’getting late. Don’t want to keep you.”

“It’s no trouble whatsoever,” Aziraphale said and when he smiled, wrinkles appeared around his eyes that were so gorgeous Crowley wanted to stop time so he could map them with his fingers.

“Let me walk you out,” Aziraphale said with a gesture to the door like he was some sort of Victorian gentleman.

Crowley swallowed around his tongue and followed after.

At the front door, Aziraphale paused. “Do you, er, drink coffee? Tea? I can have some ready for you tomorrow. If you’d like. As a thank you.”

Crowley waved him off even as the kind gesture made him feel a bit like his insides were trying to rearrange themselves into new, previously undiscovered shapes.

“No, it’s alright. I -”

Aziraphale put a hand on his arm, so warm even through the fabric of his sleeve. “I insist. This is very kind of you.”

“Right. Yeah. Coffee then,” Crowley managed to say, each word an uncomfortable weight in the air between them. Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice, just opened the front door and flicked the porchlight on.

“Tomorrow then!” he said with a happy wave.

Crowley retreated down the path with a half-hearted raise of his hand. This was mad. This was terrible.

“Mind how you go!” Aziraphale called after him, making him nearly stumble over a crack in the sidewalk.

He was fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst or no, we are still in aesthetically horny land don't worry. full appreciation of mechanic and professor aesthetic will be forthcoming


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for joining the ride, my friends! it's getting buckwild.

Aziraphale felt as if a horde of spiders had taken up residence in his chest. Or no, perhaps that was too morbid and he should say something wistful like butterflies. But there didn’t seem to be much fluttering, more the sensation of a tapping of a thousand little feet against every one of his ribs.

Crowley had been in his house yesterday. He’d tracked dirt in on his old lace up boots, button down shirt shrugged over a threadbare black t-shirt that Aziraphale had wanted to tug over his head immediately just to see if the suggestive way it hugged his body was even close to the reality of that corded whip of a chest.

He’d gone into Aziraphale’s gardening shed without question, slim hips dipping around Aziraphale’s awful excuse for storage with confusing grace and then he’d lifted the bicycle like it was nothing, carrying it out and dropping it at Aziraphale’s feet and acting _embarrassed_ as if he hadn’t just done Aziraphale an enormous favor.

Aziraphale leaned against the counter as the coffee brewed and closed his eyes, picturing the deft way Crowley had pulled back his hair. His glasses had gone slightly askew but Aziraphale had still not been able to see his eyes. He’d been so lovely in the gloam of the evening, the orange light casting shadows over his angular face. Aziraphale had stood so close to him that he could pick up the scent of motor oil and clean soap and something masculine. Oh, _there_ were the butterflies.

Aziraphale chided himself. He was getting ahead of things. Heaven only knew if the man was even gay. Or if he’d even be interested in someone like Aziraphale.

Aziraphale had no illusions about himself. He knew he was getting up in his years; he didn’t have the ideal physique; he was bookish and talked a bit too much. He’d been informed on more than one occasion that he could be a bit of a snob. And while he and Crowley were probably of an age, certainly someone like him - who was alarmingly fit and probably had all sorts of beautiful people fawning over him - would hardly enjoy Aziraphale’s idea of a good time because Aziraphale’s idea of a good time included a glass of good wine, a nice charcuterie, and perhaps the newest book in his collection.

Dreadfully boring.

But that was fine. Aziraphale knew what he liked and he didn’t exactly fancy wasting his time on something he might not enjoy. He was set in his ways and that was good. It was comfortable.

That didn’t stop him from thinking about Crowley’s hand in his or the sinuous movements of his body as he walked through Aziraphale’s house, taking up space, simply being there.

Aziraphale groaned and rubbed a hand through his hair. Ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

As he poured coffee into a thermos, he purposefully focused on his plans for the day. His first class was at 11, Intro to Latin. By far his easiest class. He could teach Intro to Latin with his eyes closed. Then he had lunch with Anathema. After that he had his bookbinding seminar which was one of his favorites to teach because the students who took it were all so enthusiastic.

A knock sounded at his door and Aziraphale straightened up, tugging on his sweatervest and adjusting his bow tie as if that would do anything to make him look anything other than what he was: a middle-aged professor.

The spiders truly had transformed into butterflies - quite a mixed metaphor - as Aziraphale pulled open the door, heart skipping a beat when he saw Crowley.

Until that moment, he’d only seen the man in the dim light of the garage or in the fading light of the setting sun. In the bright morning sunlight, he saw that his hair was a brighter red than Aziraphale had first thought, crimson instead of carmine, and that he had a dusting of freckles on his nose. Did he have those freckles anywhere else?

Aziraphale swallowed thickly.

Crowley was giving him a lopsided grin, looking more relaxed than Aziraphale had yet to see him.

“Morning, Aziraphale,” Crowley drawled and the grin flickered. Was he nervous? Crowley had no reason to be nervous, surely.

“Would you like to come in? I just made coffee but I’m afraid I didn’t ask how you take it,” Aziraphale said, opening the door wider.

Crowley stepped over the threshold and, as he looked down, Aziraphale took a moment to admire the sheer physicality of him. He was wearing a black v-neck with a gray work shirt pulled over his slim shoulders. It hung open over tight black pants held up by a shining belt buckle that Aziraphale wanted to have a good look at but was too afraid to be caught staring.

Against the cream color of Aziraphale’s walls, Crowley looked like a black smudge, a walking oil slick. Aziraphale wanted to feel him under his fingers.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you again. You must think of me as woefully unprepared.”

Crowley laughed and Aziraphale caught a flash of a dimple that made his knees weak. _Oh, good lord._

“Won't lie to you. You do seem a bit more like an absentminded professor than I first thought,” Crowley said as he leaned against the counter of Aziraphale’s kitchen. Aziraphale liked the way he looked there. Like he belonged.

“I like to think not,” Aziraphale admitted ruefully. “Though my students may agree with you.”

He moved closer to Crowley, still feeling nervous as he took the filled thermos in his hands. “Coffee? Cream or sugar?”

“Bit of both,” Crowley said, his voice quieter than Aziraphale expected, drawing his attention to his face. He was so _attractive_. Truly a nightmare.

This close Aziraphale could smell the clean soap scent of him, sharp and sweet like apple shampoo. The smell shut off the reasonable part of Aziraphale’s brain as he pulled the milk from the fridge and handed it to Crowley. He began to speak, voice far too high, “Why don’t you make it the way you like and I’ll just - I’ll bring my bicycle out through the back gate.”

Crowley held up the milk jug in a cheers motion that made Aziraphale smile, ducking his head so he didn’t look like a lunatic grinning like mad at this man he’d just met.

“Meet you out front then, _professor_ ,” Crowley said. His teasing tone did something to Aziraphale’s heart, all mingled electricity and excitement. It made him want to tease back.

Instead, he bustled out the back door and took several breaths of the steadily warming morning air. Was it really that bad to be so attracted to the man? Perhaps he should simply work up the nerve and ask him to get a drink. Or dinner. Or even lunch.

Aziraphale sighed. He could very well do that, but the nerves roiling in his gut made it very unlikely he would ever manage something so daring. Why would someone like Crowley want to spend more time with him? He seemed like a nice man, kind, and so devastatingly attractive that anyone would think he was a catch. And Aziraphale…

He shook himself and grabbed the handlebars of his bicycle. He would fill up his tires, bid the man adieu, and see him one more time when he picked up his fixed car. It would be fine. And then he’d forget about this whole thing. Perhaps remember the unbearably attractive mechanic with mild fondness.

Pushing the bike through the garden gate, he rolled it around the house and caught sight of Crowley, hauling a small tire pump out of the front seat of his car, the thermos Aziraphale had given him perched atop the roof.

Aziraphale rolled his bicycle to a stop on the curb and took the pump from his hands, then paused. He looked between the tool and his tires. Oh, dear.

“Do you know how to use that?” Crowley asked. The damned man was smirking and Aziraphale shot him a glare.

“I’m sure it’s self-explanatory,” Aziraphale said as he kneeled down to find whatever nozzle he needed to affix the air pump to.

“Let me help,” Crowley grunted as he dropped down beside him. Despite his sharp tone, he was smiling. “Look, just unscrew the cap there and then jam the needle in.”

Aziraphale followed the instructions, wrinkling his nose when he got dust all over his fingers. All in all, it was fairly straightforward and when the tires were filled, he felt a sense of satisfaction at fixing something himself. Even if it was simple.

He stood and tried to brush off his hands, only succeeding in smearing the dirt around more. Then he had a scrap of fabric - a handkerchief - being stuffed into his hands.

“For the dirt,” Crowley explained and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at him as he wiped off his fingers on the black scrap of fabric.

“Thank you,” he said, unable to stop looking at Crowley, the way the breeze tugged at his open overshirt. “I suppose I should let you go.”

_Even though I wish you would stay._

Crowley’s nostrils flared and then he shifted his weight on his feet.

“I, er, put on the bike rack this morning so I could...give you a lift. If you wanted one,” Crowley said with a shrug. As if he didn’t care. As if he hadn’t taken the time to modify his car just to offer Aziraphale a lift.

Aziraphale’s stomach flipped. Surely this meant something. Surely.

Though it felt like an unreasonable risk, Aziraphale reached out and placed a hand on Crowley’s forearm, the thick fabric of his shirt tickled the pads of his fingers and for a moment Aziraphale wished that there was nothing separating their skin. He wanted to see the ginger dusting of hair on his arm, feel the thin cords of muscle under his palm.

“I would greatly appreciate it,” Aziraphale said. Oh dear, he sounded breathless. Crowley shrugged his mouth. Until that moment, Aziraphale hadn’t known someone could shrug their mouth but Crowley managed it somehow.

“No trouble.”

“That’s quite a fib. I know it’s out of your way,” Aziraphale chided softly, risky a subtle squeeze of Crowley’s arm before withdrawing. “It’s very kind of you.”

Crowley grumbled something Aziraphale couldn’t hear but lifted the bicycle easily, securing it to the bike rack with practiced movements, open shirt fluttering in the light breeze as he worked.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Let me just grab my things from inside and lock up, hm?”

“Take your time,” Crowley said with a careless wave of his hand, not looking at Aziraphale. He thought perhaps the man was blushing but that seemed impossible. Aziraphale didn’t make people blush.

Once he had his messenger bag and keys in hand, he hurried back out to the curb to meet Crowley who sat quietly in the front seat of his car. Aziraphale slipped inside, holding nervously onto the door handle as Crowley pulled away.

He felt silly for being so nervous.

“So, Tadfield,” Aziraphale began, hoping small talk would ease the tension in his belly. “How did you end up here?”

Crowley’s knuckles flexed on the wheel as he turned onto the main road towards the university.

“Moved around a lot when I was younger. Got a job at the garage so this place sort of stuck. It’s nice enough,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled in understanding even thought Crowley wasn’t looking at him. “My story’s quite similar. The job at the university is a dream. I’ve found I love it even if Tadfield isn’t exactly a metropolis.”

Crowley snorted. “You mean you _don’t_ love the fact that there are only two decent restaurants in the whole place?”

Aziraphale gasped, mildly affronted. “Two? That is categorically untrue. Every restaurant I’ve tried here has at least one unforgettable dish.”

A smile pulled at the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “I thought someone like you would have higher standards.”

“Oh, I do,” Aziraphale said, somehow feeling like Crowley’s comment wasn’t an insult even though out of someone else’s mouth it could have been.

“Enjoy _Bertha’s Pies and Sundries_ then?” Crowley said as his half smile bloomed into something else entirely. That _dimple_.

“You have clearly not tried her lemon meringue. By far some of the most supple meringue I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.”

Crowley snorted again.

“ _Supple_ ,” he repeated, a sort of mocking fondness to his tone like he found Aziraphale adorably tiring.

Aziraphale stared at his profile, traced the line of his cheekbone back to the delicate shell of his ear, just peeking out under the slowly escaping hair from where he’d tied it back earlier. Aziraphale could see the barest hint of shadow where his beard would come in if he ever decided to grow one. His stomach flipped.

Really, truly, unfairly attractive.

Crowley pulled up to the curb outside the visitor’s entrance of the university, face finally turning to look at Aziraphale as he put the car into park. “You alright from here?”

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting his voice. With that, Crowley slipped out of the car and Aziraphale followed after, numbly watching as Crowley removed his bike from the rack and set it on the sidewalk.

“S’pose I’ll see you in a week then?” Crowley asked. And did he sound hopeful?

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale replied, taking the bicycle from him. “Simply call when the car is ready.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing and only drawing attention to the sharp dip of his collarbone and the patch of skin visible above the v of his shirt.

Crowley seemed to make up his mind about something, nodded sharply, and said, “See you around, angel.”

Then he disappeared into his car, leaving Aziraphale to watch him drive off as he pondered _that_.

* * *

Crowley slammed his hands into the steering wheel of his car. “Shit, shit SHIT! You’re a fucking _idiot_ ,” he hissed, wishing he could slam his head against the steering wheel too.

Angel. _Angel!?_ He needed to cut his fucking tongue out and then some.

Aziraphale had opened the door that morning looking particularly delicious in a dark green and tan patterned sweatervest that stretched just right over the plush swell of his belly. Crowley had had the wildest urge to drop to his knees and press his face into his stomach. He could imagine the way Aziraphale’s hands would sink into his hair, holding him close as Crowley breathed deep of his sandalwood smell.

Fucking pathetic.

Crowley’s heart turned over in his chest as he ignored the speed limit, screeching into the lot outside Hellfire Auto and slamming his way out of the car.

He threw his keys on the nearest surface in the garage and ripped off his overshirt, hurling it against the wall in his frustration.

“Rough morning?” Bee asked from behind him, startling him something fierce.

“No,” Crowley sneered, baring his teeth and wishing he could tear into something. Smash something. Anything to relieve the feeling of shame slicing through him. “What would give you that idea?”

Bee narrowed their eyes at them. “Get to work. You’re distracting when you’re like this.”

Crowley snarled and stomped into the office where he could have a good sulk. It lasted all of two minutes before he realized Bee was right. He needed something to do with his hands or else all he would do was linger on his mistakes.

What had he been thinking? Putting on the bike rack, telling himself he was just being nice, that it wasn’t a ridiculous gesture. And then Aziraphale had _touched_ him and looked at him like he was truly thankful, like Crowley really was someone good and kind and worthwhile. All Crowley had been able to think over the roaring in his ears had been the litany of _he’s an angel. An angel._

And that had been his downfall.

They’d driven to campus. Crowley had teased him and Aziraphale had laughed and _liked_ it, teasing back and acting fond like perhaps Crowley was interesting and sweet. Not that Crowley was either of those things but he felt practically incandescent at the mere possibility that Aziraphale could think that about him.

Trying not to think too hard about the fact that he’d fucked up and called Aziraphale angel not once but _twice_ , he popped open the hood of the Austin Maestro and decided to get to work on removing the alternator. Once that was done, he’d do the coolant tank on the Volvo in the back of the shop and by then his nerves should be settled.

Bee appeared at his hip, making him jump. He should really put a bell on them.

“What?” he demanded.

“What happened?” Bee asked, their endless black eyes fixing him in place.

“Nothing,” Crowley said, already planning the best method of attack to get the alternator out and trying to push his whirling thoughts away somewhere dark where they couldn't bother him.

“Bullshit,” Bee said. “You haven’t been like this in ages.”

Crowley took a deep breath. He and Bee didn’t really have heart-to-hearts. Not since he was getting clean and they were locking him in the bathroom through the worst of it or Crowley was coming back to Bee’s apartment sobbing after a terrible therapy session with his terrible therapist.

“Fine,” Crowley said through gritted teeth, fingers clenching around the lip of the car as he turned to Bee. “I saw that professor again.”

Bee’s eyebrows drew together but they said nothing.

"It was just - it was a lot," Crowley admitted.

"So you do like him," Bee said. A statement not a question.

“I’m not - he’s better than me. Clever. Good. Someone like that’s not going to be interested in someone like me,” Crowley said. His eyes were stinging. Absolutely not. He was not going to cry over this. No matter how much it dredged up memories of being tossed out on his arse over and over again by people who said they cared about him.

 _Aziraphale isn’t like that_ , his stupid, hopeful, optimistic mind hissed.

Bee hummed speculatively, still not responding.

“What?” Crowley asked, growing irritated in their silence.

“Seems like you should let him decide that,” they said with a shrug before walking away and starting on their own work.

Crowley gripped the edge of the car and hung his head. It didn’t matter. He could lust and pine after Aziraphale all he wanted.

It wouldn’t matter.

* * *

Anathema dropped into the seat across from Aziraphale in the little off campus cafe where they had their weekly lunches, threw her hair over her shoulder and announced, “I had sex with Newt.”

Aziraphale nearly spat out the water he was sipping. “Excuse me?”

“Newt, you know. The department’s TA. I slept with him.”

“When did this happen?” Aziraphale demanded. Newt was a nice young man. A bit nervous but a hard worker.

“Saturday night. I ran into him at the pub and we got to talking. One thing led to another, I invited him back to mine and, you know,” Anathema said, smiling placidly at the waitress when she set down a glass of water.

“Isn’t that against the rules? Sleeping with a TA?” Aziraphale asked, both shocked and intrigued. Anathema was quite spunky. She always did what she wanted and usually got her way to boot. She’d been a fantastic addition to the department with her courses on prophetic texts and outside of her academic accomplishments she made things very interesting. Aziraphale loved her dearly.

Anathema shrugged. “Not really. He’s not my student so no one should care.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, trying to ask a question without coming off as rude or judgmental. “Don’t you think Gabriel -”

“Gabriel can stuff it.”

Aziraphale grimaced. The head of the classics department was a notoriously old-fashioned stickler for the rules. If he so much as got a whiff of misbehavior, he would use it against you for years or even find a way to get you fired. For the most part, Aziraphale had never had any run-ins with him and he was very glad to stay on the rather obnoxious man’s good side.

“I’d hate to see you lose your job,” Aziraphale said, reaching out to place his hand over Anathema’s in true concern. She rolled her eyes and shook him off.

“They can go ahead and try. It isn’t against the rules and if Gabe tries to do anything, I’ll take it up with the dean. See how he likes that,” Anathema said, jutting her chin up in the air stubbornly. Aziraphale wished he had half as much temerity.

They placed their orders and Aziraphale found himself plucking at his trousers nervously. Anathema - absurdly observant as she was - picked up on it immediately.

“What’s up?” she asked, mouth full of salad. “You’re acting all fidgety.”

“I am _not_ fidgety,” Aziraphale said petulantly but she just arched an eyebrow at him and he caved. “Alright. Fine. I may be fidgeting.”

“Are you nervous about the reviews? I know you’re applying for the permanent lectureship but you’re basically a shoo-in.”

Aziraphale hoped he was a shoo-in but that wasn’t what he was worried about. “You know the trouble I was having with my car?”

“Oh, you mean how it was two seconds from shaking apart?” Anathema said, blinking innocently behind her large round glasses even as she teased him.

“That is quite an exaggeration but yes. I finally took it to a garage to be repaired.”

“And?” Anathema prompted. “That doesn’t exactly explain the fidgeting.”

“Well.” Aziraphale hesitated. It would be awfully nice to confide in someone. “There’s a man…”

Anathema dropped her fork. It clattered loudly against her plate before she scrambled to pick it up. “You met someone?” she demanded, looking far too excited.

“Met someone implies something is happening. But I don’t think anything is happening. And that’s the issue,” Aziraphale said with a sigh, looking down at his salad forlornly. What would he give for something to be happening. For him to have been able to sit down at this lunch and actually say _I’ve met someone_.

“If nothing’s happened, why are you telling me?”

When Aziraphale didn’t answer, Anathema’s expression turned sly. “Oh, you _like_ someone, don’t you?”

Aziraphale groaned and rolled his eyes. “Yes and it is untenable. Absolutely ridiculous _and_ impossible.”

Anathema shrugged. ‘You’re being overdramatic. Nothing’s impossible.”

“I don’t even know if he’s gay, Anathema,” Aziraphale pointed out, one of the many reasons why he didn’t think this would work, though his mind happily supplied the (now two) instances Crowley had called him _angel._

“Well, if you ask him out, I’m sure he’ll tell you one way or another.”

He loved Anathema but that was truly unhelpful.

“Isn’t that terribly forward?” he asked, trying not to start up with the fidgeting again.

“What are you going to do? Sit around and think about him and then what? Wait, another thousand years and hope he’ll make a move?”

Aziraphale sighed. She was right. Perhaps all Aziraphale needed to do was gather his courage.

He had a week or two before he would see Crowley again and by then...well, by then he’d figure something out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the thirst continues...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by alligatorsnbats  
> cw: negative self talk and allusions to past abusive relationships and drug use

Crowley climbed up the stairs to his apartment, relief already rising in him at the prospect of being in his own house. It wasn’t anything special; a one bedroom flat above a garage where he was able to store his half-built Bentley. The landlady was a gem, willing to rent to him all those years ago despite his history of drug use and the handful of charges on his record. She’d taken one look at him, patted his arm, and said, _You look like you’re getting up on your feet, love. Who am I to not take a chance on you?_

How pathetic was it that he’d been a thirty year old man with no rental history? Just all those years on couches, the streets, then with Sam, then Vital, then Luc who’d been the worst of it.

Then Bee.

Thank God - or whoever - for Bee.

They’d cosigned with Crowley that first year but the landlady ended up loving Crowley and he resigned the next year without Bee. Tracy treated him right. Like he was someone worthy of respecting. She always brought him biscuits around Christmastime. And every year since, for the last ten years, Crowley had resigned his lease and settled in just a little bit more, trusting for the first time that he had a place that was his. He’d invested in decorations, real furniture. He had a headboard. Like a functional human. Instead of just an old mattress on the floor.

Crowley pushed into his apartment and tossed his keys in the bowl by the door, shrugging off his chambray overshirt and hanging it on the hook where he could grab it for the next day.

He needed a shower. It had been brutally hot all day and the fans in the shop hadn’t done much to cool anything. Bee, as always, had buzzed around unbothered, productivity hardly affected by the sweltering heat, while Crowley steadily grew slow and tired as sweat pooled at his lower back, drenching his t-shirt and making him regret not wearing a vest instead.

He’d spent most of the day thinking about that damned professor. The thankful, relieved expression on his face had haunted him. He’d looked at Crowley like Crowley had _saved_ him by putting a sodding bike rack on his car. Which was ridiculous. It was just a small favor. No trouble.

Besides Crowley wasn’t the sort of person to save people. He’d always been too busy with himself to worry about anyone else.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he kicked off his boots and padded into the kitchen where he filled a glass with water.

Why was it always like this when he was attracted to someone? Why couldn’t he feel anything other than this surety that no matter what he did, he’d never be good enough for them?

The voice of his last therapist whispered helpfully in his ear, _Given how your parents and your partners have treated you, I’d say you have what’s called disordered attachment. You can work on finding ways to trust people but it’s going to be hard_.

Crowley had called it an emptiness, an itching, a hungry mouth in his gut, this need to feel loved, to feel sated. Shooting up had done it, getting fucked had done it.

When Crowley had shared that little nugget of wisdom, Molly had said _Look, you’ve been trying to fill that void with whatever you can get your hands on. But if you take care of yourself, one day, you’ll notice the hole is smaller and then one day it will be gone. You’re just trying to feel loved, Crowley. That’s all anyone does._

Crowley had liked Molly. She had been scads better than Judy who said things like _using is a choice_ and called him Anthony even though he hated it.

But sometimes it still got bad. Sometimes the mouth was yawned wide and his mind began to whisper things like _You’re unforgivable. It’s just what you are. How can you expect someone like him to look at you twice?_

Crowley had coping mechanisms for that. Things he had scraped and clawed and bled for during recovery and had gotten better at over the last decade.

And so sometimes, when he played his audiobooks and sat down with a puzzle, he’d forget about the itching under his skin. Or when he set his favorite record spinning and carefully chopped onions, it was only him in his kitchen. A normal person making normal marinara sauce to go with his normal pasta. No grief or fear or _want_ tearing at his insides.

Tonight, he needed more sensation than that. It wasn’t distraction he wanted. He needed to reset in his body. Feel present in the moment and then move on.

Leaving the lights off, Crowley passed through the hall and pushed his way into the bathroom, tugging his shirt over his head and hucking it into the hamper with a frustrated sigh. He flicked on the overhead light and turned the shower on just the wrong side of too hot before shucking off his jeans and crawling into the steaming spray.

Crowley liked the way it turned his skin red, the way it made him feel raw, how the water made his whole body bloom.

He put his forearms on the tile and hung his head, letting the water sluice down his back in almost painful rivulets. Just for a moment, enough to shock the system. Then he turned the heat down, water growing more comfortable and welcoming. He sighed into it, tipping his head back to let it wet his hair, the stench of oil and sweat filling the little bathroom as the water washed it away.

He washed his hair with his dimestore apple shampoo and wondered what sort of soap the professor used. _Aziraphale_. _Angel_ , his stupid hooked-in mind supplied.

Probably something nice. Something that made his downy-looking curls even softer. Crowley wondered if his hair stuck up like that because he ran his fingers through it or if it looked like that because of some sort of styling effort. It was probably ridiculously soft. Crowley pictured the way those clean, manicured hands would look passing through those curls. What would those hands feel like in Crowley’s hair?

Crowley groaned and tipped his head against the wall, already knowing where this little fantasy was going and feeling helpless to stop it. Heat was unfurling in his belly at the images in his mind and his efforts to ignore his lustful thoughts all day were falling away in the silent safety of the shower.

What if Aziraphale fisted his hands in Crowley’s hair, pushing him to his knees? Maybe they’d be in Aziraphale’s kitchen and Crowley would be able to smell the sweet scent of old books and brewing coffee - just like that morning - while he unzipped Aziraphale’s trousers and took him into his hand.

Crowley was already touching himself, cock filling at the image.

Aziraphale would probably taste so sweet on his tongue. He’d guide Crowley with a gentle hand on the back of his head, never pushing too far but leading just enough that Crowley knew exactly what he liked best, so that Crowley could lose himself in bringing Aziraphale pleasure.

Crowley wrapped a hand around himself, hips already stuttering through his fist as he imagined the noises Aziraphale would make. The smell of him. The delicious press of his belly against Crowley’s face as he swallowed him down.

It was too much and Crowley came on a long groan, all evidence of his embarrassment washing down the drain as he clutched at the wall with his free hand.

He was pathetic. Wanking to a man he didn’t even know just because he’d smiled at him.

“You’re not doing this again,” he growled at himself, scrubbing himself down briskly and shutting off the water.

He’d make dinner and forget about this whole thing.

* * *

Aziraphale spent a week jumping to answer his office phone every time it rang, desperately wishing he’d hear Crowley’s gruff voice on the line. It was silly because he knew Crowley wouldn’t be calling so soon. He’d said two weeks and that would hardly change just because Aziraphale was obsessing over the man and the way he’d been able to see the dip of his belly button through the tight fabric of his vest that first day.

Every day that he rode his bicycle to and from work he thought about Crowley. How he’d helped him with it. Replaying that evening in his mind, he grew more and more confident that, if he did work up the nerve to ask him out, Crowley wouldn’t say no. That Crowley found him interesting.

Crowley might not find him particularly attractive, but interesting was a good place to start. Aziraphale could be interesting. People found him interesting.

Sometimes.

Aziraphale rolled his bike up to his house and pushed it through the garden gate to lean it against the back of the house.

It had been terribly warm for days and he’d had to resort to some of his cooler attire, forgoing his waistcoats entirely on two individual days and causing quite a stir among his students for it. Apparently, he had never taught class without a waistcoat or sweatervest because several students mentioned something about being abducted by aliens or bodysnatchers or some such.

He pushed through the back door and flicked on the kitchen light. He still had leftover takeaway from the night before so dinner was sorted, but he was awfully behind on the washing. Bustling into the study to pick up the embarrassment of half-empty tea cups, he noticed the light on his answering machine was blinking. His heart skipped.

The tea cup in his hand clanged against the saucer as he set it back down, evidence of his unsteady hands. Really, he was being ridiculous. It could be anyone.

He took a deep breath and pressed play.

 _Erm, -_ Just the one little awkward syllable had Aziraphale flushing with relief and disappointment. Crowley had called him but he had missed it. - _This is Crowley. From, er, Hellfire Auto. Based on your voicemail I think I have the right number but I wanted to let you know that the parts we ordered came in sooner than expected. We should have you up and running by Saturday._

_Give me - us a, er, call back and we can schedule a good time for pick up._

_This is Crowley._

_Right._

Aziraphale stared at the answering machine, a steadily growing smile on his face. He played the message again and closed his eyes, letting the timbre of Crowley’s voice wash over him. Even though he sounded slightly awkward, there was something soothing about it. Like there was a smile in there and if Aziraphale did something right then he’d get to see it.

He glanced at the clock. It was four. If he returned the call then Crowley might reasonably still be there.

Gathering his nerves he picked up the phone and called back. It felt terrifying. It felt exciting.

“Hello,” a disgruntled voice said on the other end of the line. Not Crowley then.

Swallowing his disappointment, Aziraphale said, “Hello, my name’s Aziraphale Fell -”

“Hold on,” the voice said, an almost angry monotone before there was a rustling and muffled. “Crowley, your man’s on the line!”

Aziraphale’s stomach flipped. _Your man_.

Some more rustling before a voice said, “Hullo, sorry about that.”

Aziraphale sighed with relief at the sound of that voice. _Crowley_.

“Yes, er, I’m returning your call,” Aziraphale said, voice much stronger than he thought it would be given the trembling in his legs.

“Right, yeah. Your alternator came in and it’ll be easy enough to change over. If you wanted to come in and pick up the car on Saturday, it’ll be ready for you.”

Aziraphale couldn’t contain his smile. He would have an excuse to see Crowley. In three days. That was three too many but it was better than nothing. “I’ll be free on Saturday. What are your hours?”

“I’ll be here from noon to five. If you’d like. To stop by that is.”

Aziraphale’s Saturday included brunch with Anathema and nothing else. He had been considering going to an estate sale that looked like it might have a promising collection of books, but this opportunity was far better. He’d see Crowley.

“I will be there at one. If that’s alright.” Aziraphale’s skin was tingling at the prospect of seeing the man again even as nerves began to spark in his gut. He would need to figure out how to see him again after their business was concluded. Anathema’s advice played in his mind.

 _Just ask him out_.

“I’ll pencil you in,” Crowley said and Aziraphale was fairly certain he could hear his smile. It was probably gorgeous. Aziraphale wondered if he’d ever be able to see all of Crowley’s smiles. He’d seen a shy one, a lopsided grin, even a self-deprecating smirk that, more than any of the others, Aziraphale had wanted to kiss.

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, heart hammering away. “Well, I’ll see you then.”

“See you, Aziraphale,” Crowley said before he hung up.

Aziraphale stared at the phone. He had something to look forward to.

* * *

Crowley stumbled anxiously around his apartment. Bee was going to make fun of him for being late, but he was having trouble deciding what to wear. Which was stupid. He had exactly four outfits. Black trousers, blue jeans. Black shirt or vest. He had two gray shirts that he rarely wore to work because they showed dirt too easily. So those were out.

Groaning at his own ridiculous behavior, he tugged a black t-shirt over his head and chastised himself. He shouldn’t be worrying about this. It was the last time he’d see the professor unless the universe decided to throw them together again. Tadfield wasn’t that small but they’d never run into each other before and it was extremely unlikely they’d ever run in the same circles.

Just picturing Aziraphale at pub night with Hastur and Ligur made Crowley’s brain do cartwheels. The sheer impossibility of it was staggering.

With shaking hands, he packed his lunch, making sure to tuck Aziraphale’s thermos into his bag to return it to him. Crowley may have used it every day this week because looking at it made something go fluttery in his chest. But he also made sure to wash it thoroughly. Because Aziraphale did not need to know that.

The weather wasn’t much better than it had been for the last week, the heat turning the air thick and stifling as he drove to work with the windows down, breeze ruffling his hair and helping settle his nerves as he began to think of Aziraphale. What would he wear on days he didn’t teach? Would he wear something else because it was so warm? Perhaps he’d roll up his sleeves like he’d done that day when he picked up the estimate. Crowley flexed his fingers around the steering wheel against a flare of lust. Just a flash of forearm had him feeling like this. He hated to think what any other sort of skin would do.

Bee was already at the shop when Crowley pulled in. On Saturdays they opened the shop and worked until one, while Crowley came in at noon and finished out the day. They both worked shorter hours. A concession to the weekend.

Bee was playing some cloying pop music, but Crowley didn’t have it in him to complain. Bee’d already spent the better part of the week taking the piss out of Crowley for mooning over Aziraphale.

“He must be hot shit if he’s got you this tied up in knots,” Bee had said when Crowley almost poured oil in a coolant tank on Thursday.

“Shut up,” Crowley had said and resolved to pay more attention because he’d be damned if Bee caught him out again.

The hour between noon and when Aziraphale said he would stop by dragged on, Crowley trying to fill his time with the mindless disassembly of one of the old cars they’d bought for scrap. It was easy but dirty work. Not that Crowley minded, he’d just wanted something to occupy his mind other than the steadily increasing rattling of his nerves.

He was in the middle of trying to prise some gunk off of the radiator when his hair slipped free of the elastic holding it back.

He swore. He really needed a haircut.

“Bee!” he shouted as the hair fell into his eyes. His fingers were currently knuckle deep in caked on grime and he couldn’t exactly push the hair back without something truly vile smearing through it.

“Can you come help me?” he called again, keeping his hands on the radiator and trying to use his shoulder to push the hair from his eyes and just making it worse as the strands stuck to the sweat on his forehead.

Crowley heard the shuffle of feet and was momentarily confused. Bee would normally say something shitty about this whole situation but they were eerily silent.

Then his hair was being pulled back carefully and a soft, all too familiar voice said, “Is that better? I’m afraid I don’t have a hairband.”

Crowley stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his head into the hood of the car as he stumbled back. For a blissful moment, he felt the heated press of a soft body against his back before he was stepping away.

“What the fuck?” he demanded, regretting his harsh tone when he met Aziraphale’s eyes. They were blue today.

Aziraphale held up his hands, soft pink palms. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. You just looked -”

Crowley shook his head. “No it’s - it’s fine.”

Aziraphale was still all buttoned up, tartan bow tie and waistcoat, this time not a sweatervest but something gold and velvety looking. Crowley’s stomach flipped as he took in Aziraphale’s wind ruffled hair. It looked perfect. Unaware of Crowley’s distraction, Aziraphale gave him a small smile and Crowley’s insides melted. Fuck, he was gorgeous.

“Do you still need help? You look like you’ve got your hands full,” Aziraphale said with a meaningful tip of his head in the direction of Crowley’s dirt slick fingers.

Well, that was bloody embarrassing.

“Yeah, er, I’ve got extra elastics in that box there,” Crowley said with a gesture towards one of their spare tool boxes. Aziraphale approached it carefully with a sort of confusion that made him look afraid that it might bite him. Crowley tried not to smile. “Top drawer.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, opening the drawer with similar care and extracting a black hairband. “Will this do?”

Crowley nodded. What was he doing? This was stupid. An awful excuse to just get Aziraphale to touch his hair.

Then Aziraphale was tentatively stepping behind him, threading his fingers through Crowley’s hair, the blunt edges of his nails scraping over his scalp as he pulled the strands into a bun. His arms brushed Crowley’s shoulders and Crowley had to physically restrain himself from leaning into the contact like a desperate cat.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I have your touch. It doesn’t look nearly as good as when you do it,” Aziraphale said, stepping around him and giving him a wavering smile.

“I’m sure it’s grand,” Crowley said, still reeling from the feel of Aziraphale’s wide palms cradling his head. _He thinks I look good_. “Thanks either way.”

That wavering smile turned back into the joyful one that Crowley was starting to crave whenever he was in Aziraphale’s presence. It was easy and hopeful and it rounded the apples of Aziraphale’s cheeks, showing his dimples. Crowley wanted to kiss those cheeks, see those dimples in the filtered morning sunlight as Aziraphale lay against his black sheets, glowing like the angel he was.

“You’re far too kind,” Aziraphale said, honey gold eyelashes fluttering like he was nervous. As if he had any reason to be nervous. “Did you need to wash up so we can get settled?”

Aziraphale was looking at him so kindly, so happily, that it made Crowley’s entire chest light up. Look at those smile lines, that soft mouth, the little dip in his nose, an imperfection that made his face somehow more perfect.

Jesus fucking christ.

“Yeah. Hands. Gotta wash ‘em,” Crowley said, like an idiot.

“Alright! I’ll be here,” Aziraphale said, looking happy to just survey the garage even though Carly Rae Jepsen was playing and the whole place was stifling as hell.

Crowley disappeared into the little bathroom in the back of the shop, staring at himself under the flickering overhead light. His sunglasses were firmly in place which was good. Nothing to give himself away. And it did actually look like, despite the fact that Aziraphale had tried his best, his hair was half in the hairband and half escaping in strange places. He shook his head, stomach kicking up a fuss.

He’d felt that plush body against his back for a split second. It hadn’t been enough.

He’d felt those beautiful hands in his hair. And he’d wanted so much fucking more.

Leaning awkwardly over the sink, he tried to turn on the tap with his elbow, but he misjudged and the spray caught him in the belly.

“Shit,” he hissed, tugging at the wet fabric without thinking and then swore again. Fuck. Now his shirt was wet _and_ covered in oily, ancient gunk.

He groaned, shoving his hands under the tap to scrub them clean. He was an idiot. Tugging his shirt over his head, he pushed it under the tap and tried to rinse off the filth.

It just made it worse.

In a frustrated huff, he threw the damn thing on the floor and rewashed his hands, the smell of the industrial soap grounding him. At least he had brought his overshirt to work. He could just wear that. Even if the long sleeves would be ridiculously hot.

Now he just had to get the stupid shirt which he'd very wisely left on top of the car he was working on. Unfortunately, there was one very attractive professor on the other side of that door and walking out of the bathroom suddenly shirtless was one of the more embarrassing things Crowley could do when he wanted to make a good impression.

Fuck, he hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t think he was trying to come onto him or something.

* * *

Aziraphale took several deep breaths and tried to calm down, thankful he had a moment to get his head on straight. Oh dear lord. Crowley’s hair had felt as good as he’d imagined. Its slight waves just enough texture to tickle his palms as he pulled it through the hair band.

He’d been an idiot. Crowley had been asking for help and instead of waiting for the mysterious Bee, Aziraphale had stepped up and done something remarkably silly. Thank God the man was understanding and didn’t think Aziraphale was some sort of lecher.

There had been the barest moment where Crowley had stepped back and his body had pressed against Aziraphale’s. It had been sweat damp and firm and so terribly electric. Every passing second in the man’s presence, Aziraphale grew more and more terrified that he would lose the nerve to ask him out. He’d told himself before he left the house that morning that he would do it. He’d simply decided. He tried to remind himself of that the entire time he was at brunch with Anathema, ignoring her pointed looks and keeping the conversation firmly away from the mechanic Aziraphale couldn’t stop thinking about.

He was still staring after Crowley when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped.

Anathema smirked at him, holding out his messenger bag which he had, in his distracted state, apparently left in her car. “Aziraphale, you forgot your bag.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, heart racing as he plucked the bag from her hands. “Thank you. My apologies.”

Anathema looked around and then wrinkled her nose. “Smells like oil.”

“It’s a mechanic’s garage, my dear. I believe that’s normal.”

The clearing of a throat drew both their attention.

Crowley had come out of the bathroom.

He was shirtless.

Aziraphale nearly had an apoplexy. He’d seen Crowley in his vest and thought that had been enough to fuel his fantasies for weeks, the way the ribbed black fabric had hugged the corded muscle of his chest, showed off the flex of his arms.

But this? His torso was damp, glistening with sweat that darkened the patch of ginger hair in the concave of his chest. It matched a swirl around his belly button that trailed into the waistband of his trousers which...the hipbones on the man. Dear god. He had v-lines. It didn’t even look like out of some sort of effort or vanity, simply a combination of his thin build and strength that carved the lines of his hips into something breathtaking.

Aziraphale gaped while the man snatched a shirt from the top of the car he had been working on. All the thoughts went out of Aziraphale’s head because Crowley’s chest was flexing as he settled the shirt around his shoulders. He began to button up the gray work shirt and Aziraphale wanted to knock his hands away.

How dare he cover up something that beautiful?

* * *

Crowley tried to neither saunter nor rush to snag his work shirt off of the toolbox. His belly was damp from where his t-shirt had soaked through but it did little to alleviate the heat. In fact, it just made him sweatier. He didn’t want Aziraphale to think poorly of him, wandering around without a shirt on when he was a generally self-respecting forty year old man. He grabbed his shirt from the top of the car without making eye contact, some stupid logic like _if you don’t look at him, he’s not looking at you_ keeping his eyes downcast as he changed clothes.

"Holy shit."

Crowley looked towards Aziraphale as he began to button his shirt and saw a young woman standing next to him. She had a sort of alternative witchy style - well, witchy if you were going by pilgrim standards - that made Crowley blink a few times just to make sure she was real. Did young people really dress like that?

She slapped at Aziraphale’s arm. "Holy. SHIT," she repeated insistently..

"Yes, thank you," Aziraphale said in a low voice, dipping his head as if to usher her away. The move made a roll of fat appear under his chin. Crowley thought briefly about what it would be like to press his nose into that softness. "You've made yourself clear."

The girl ignored him, pushed up her thin-rimmed round glasses, and stepped closer to Crowley, sticking out her hand. "I'm Anathema Device. I work with Aziraphale."

"Another professor type?" Crowley asked, abandoning his attempts to button his shirt under scrutiny - he was off by one button and he knew it - and shaking Anathema’s hand.

She scrunched her nose rather adorably and said, "In theory, but I'd hate to be called a 'professor type.'"

"Anathema!" Aziraphale said, clicking his tongue. "You've done a significant amount of work to earn that title. You shouldn’t deride it."

"Sounds stuffy," Anathema said and even Crowley could tell she was just trying to rile Aziraphale up.

There was something astounding about seeing the two of them interact. The easy intimacy of their friendship made Crowley feel party to something special. Like he was given the privilege to see into Aziraphale’s life.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Stuffy. You _would_ say that."

Anathema laughed and then patted the messenger bag in Aziraphale’s hands. "Whatever, old man. Don’t leave your things in my car."

"Thank you for your input," Aziraphale said meaningfully, a bit of a dismissal

Anathema stared at Aziraphale for a long moment and then looked between them. She stepped close to Aziraphale and said, "Don’t be a coward."

Crowley watched her go in shock. He hadn’t met someone so forceful since Bee had barreled their way into Luc’s apartment all those years ago, demanding their brother let them stay there and changing Crowley’s life in the process.

"Apologies," Aziraphale said, turning back to him with another nervous smile. "She can be quite the whirlwind."

"I think I like her actually."

Aziraphale smiled tentatively and it made Crowley feel like he’d passed some sort of test.

“How about we settle that bill then?” Aziraphale asked, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Its strap cut his torso into fascinating patterns, the dark line emphasizing the barrel of his chest, the slope of his strong shoulders.

Crowley nodded and showed Aziraphale to the office with regret quickly sinking his stomach. This was it. They’d never see each other again.

Aziraphale paid the invoice without complaint and then paused, eyes darting about the office and refusing to land on anything. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath like he was steeling himself for something. His throat bobbed, drawing Crowley’s attention to his bow tie. It brought to mind all sorts of things Crowley would like to unwrap.

He flexed his fingers by his sides. He wanted to look away but he couldn't. The man had such a beautifully expressive face. The way his mouth moved was hypnotic. His eyes showed every feeling. Crowley wished he could take off his sunglasses, see the real color of them.

“Are you busy right now?” Aziraphale asked, that posh voice a bit thready, blue eyes finally locking on his.

Crowley’s meandering thoughts guttered to a stop.

Aziraphale continued speaking as if Crowley hadn’t just stopped breathing. “You’ve been such a help. Let me take you to lunch. As a thank you.”

Crowley exhaled, a long shuddering thing. Was Aziraphale - Aziraphale wanted to spend more time with him? At the very least be friends? “Yeah, I - sure.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. Gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous.

The smile was so bright that Crowley just had to smile back. Every molecule of his pathetic being was simultaneously punching the air in victory. Not tossed aside so quickly then. His grin grew as he said, “Well then, what’s for lunch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to the GO romcom server for supporting my thirsty impulses


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by alligatorsnbats  
> cw for reference to scars caused by past drug use

Aziraphale quickly realized that he hadn’t planned much further than the asking part of asking Crowley out. Crowley’s eyebrows were up above the rims of his sunglasses and he was giving Aziraphale a lopsided expectant smile that had him struggling to think. Crowley was standing so close that Aziraphale didn’t think he’d be able to move towards the door without brushing against him. The sharp tang of soap overlaid his warm smell of oil and earth. Aziraphale tried not to stare at his chest despite the fact that his shirt was misbuttoned and still so open at the collar that Aziraphale could see that smattering of golden red chest hair he’d so inappropriately ogled. If Aziraphale pushed him back against the desk, slotted himself between his long lithe legs and undid those buttons, he could run his fingers through it. He imagined Crowley would taste of salt and sweat.

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. He was certainly getting away from himself.

"I'm not - well, do you have a preference? My treat after all," Aziraphale said, hoping he didn’t sound as flustered as he felt.

Crowley laughed - oh dear, when he laughed like that he tossed his head back, showing slightly crooked teeth and a kiss of his beautiful dimple - and said, "No preference. Anywhere you’d like is fine. M'not picky really."

"What about Bertha’s? You said you’d never had their meringue."

Crowley’s smile took on a sly bent. "I did indeed. Quite a memory on you, professor."

Aziraphale huffed, flustered by the look on Crowley’s face.

"Let me just ask Bee to cover and then we can go. You want to drive? Take the new old girl for a spin.”

When Crowley teased him, his face relaxed. It was beautiful and Aziraphale wished he could see the rest of his expression. What would his eyes look like? Would they be blue? Brown? Whatever they were, all Aziraphale could think was that they would be unbearably lovely and right then, he imagined they were smiling.

Crowley plucked a key off of a board on the wall and pressed it into Aziraphale’s hand. Their fingers caught and Aziraphale was reminded of the rough texture of his hands and how much he wanted them on his skin, gripping that sensitive place just above his hips that always made his toes curl.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Right, yeah. Your car’s in the lot. I’ll be out in a tick.”

Aziraphale stared after him for a moment, watching the confusing movement of his hips. Aziraphale wanted to grab them, tug Crowley back. He wanted to be pressed down by those hips.

Shaking himself, Aziraphale hurried out of the garage and forcefully thought of anything but Crowley’s hips as he started his car.

* * *

Bee crossed their arms over their chest and glared at him. “Let me get this straight, you want to skive off work to spend time with your little professor.”

“Look, Bee,” Crowley began, not sure of the right tack to take here. “This is - just do me this favor.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t your type.”

“I said that there was no way I was _his_ type.”

Bee narrowed their eyes at him and then sighed. “Fine. I’ll cover until you get back. But you owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll give you five thousand years of labor and the skin off my back,” Crowley said with a dismissive wave even though his excitement was already winning over, a smile blooming on his face.

Bee shook their head and gave him a shove. “Go stick your tongue down his throat. It might make you focus again.”

It was the worst thing Bee could have said because now Crowley was actually picturing kissing Aziraphale and just the thought had arousal sparking in his belly. Would Aziraphale touch his face while they kissed, perhaps wrap a hand around the nape of his neck, sink his hands into his hair? A sensation Crowley now knew was unbearably delicious.

 _It’s just lunch. A thank you. That’s what he said_ , Crowley reminded himself forcefully. He didn’t want to get his hopes up because this was probably nothing more than an overture of friendship.

Aziraphale had pulled his car around so it was just outside the garage door. Crowley took a deep breath and pulled open the door. It creaked something awful as he slipped inside and he gave Aziraphale a meaningful look.

“What?” Aziraphale asked as he took them onto the road.

“You need a new car,” Crowley said as he rapped his knuckles on the dash. “This thing wasn’t built to be on the road for forty years.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, only snorting in good humor before he drove them downtown at an embarrassingly slow clip. He _would_ drive like an old lady. He practically was an old lady. Forty year old car, tartan, tea cozies. Crowley should not find it endearing and yet he did.

“How long have you been a mechanic?” Aziraphale asked. Small talk then. Alright. Crowley could do this dance. Avoid the hard topics. Stick to recent history. Call it good.

“About ten years,” Crowley said. See? Very good. Easy as pie.

“That’s a very long time,” Aziraphale replied easily, pulling them up in front of Bertha’s, one of the many quaint storefronts on Tadfield’s main street. “You must like the work then.”

“S’nice,” Crowley said. “You know. Fixing things. Knowing that when something doesn’t work, I can make it work again.”

Aziraphale laughed at that as they walked up to the door. From this angle, Crowley was able to study his profile, the imperfect slope of his nose, the smile lines about his beautiful mouth.

“You know, that makes a great deal of sense. How very direct,” Aziraphale observed, absentminded as he opened the door for Crowley, gesturing him inside with a polite little _after you_. Crowley didn’t think he’d ever met anyone like Aziraphale, so unfailingly old-fashioned.

When they sat down with the menus, Aziraphale pulled out his tiny glasses and slipped them on his nose, frowning at the print.

“Didn’t you say you knew what was good here?” Crowley asked, already fiddling with his fork. Fuck, he was too nervous. He needed to calm down. It was fine. Aziraphale had asked him here. Presumably because he wanted to get to know him better. It was an opportunity and Crowley wasn’t going to squander it by _fidgeting_.

“Yes, but one never knows if the menu changes,” Aziraphale said with a prissy purse of his lips that made Crowley grin. He was adorably ridiculous.

“Well, did it then?” Crowley asked once Aziraphale had set it down. He removed his glasses and shook his head.

“Alas, it has not.”

“So, what should I get? I’m at your mercy,” Crowley said, leaning back in his chair, satisfied when Aziraphale’s cheeks went pink. That was a good sign. Like, at the very least, Aziraphale might think he was attractive. He might be able to work with that.

“The carbonara here is very good. Though I was planning on the steak and kidney pie.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Weren’t you going to get the lemon meringue? Awful lot of pie in one meal.”

Aziraphale fixed him with a sharp look, gray eyes alight at their banter. “No such thing as too much pie.”

Crowley snorted and that earned him a glare. He held up his hands. “Whatever you say, Aziraphale. I won’t keep you from your crust.”

Aziraphale’s playful huffiness faded into a genuine smile that made Crowley’s heart skip a beat. He’d earned that smile. Something he’d said made Aziraphale look like _that_.

Crowley knew that some of his nerves came from a fear that Aziraphale and he would exchange two sentences and the man would realize he wasn’t very clever. That they wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation. But it was...easy.

Aziraphale accepted his strange half answers to questions about his past. He didn’t ask about the sunglasses. And when Crowley asked after his work, he _lit up_. Crowley had thought the man impossibly bright but he hadn’t realized how much he shined when talking about something he was passionate about.

“I’m teaching Intro to Latin this semester which is by far my least favorite. Terribly boring and not at all challenging to anyone except the students who will inevitably not go on to the intermediate level. Next semester however I’ll be teaching the Iliad. Scads more interesting.”

“Iliad’s Greek though,” Crowley said, surprising himself for pulling out that little piece of knowledge.

“Well,” Aziraphale shuffled in his seat, glancing away before adding, “I read Greek as well. Though when I teach it, we generally read in translation. Have you read it?”

Crowley shook his head even as he said, “We read it in secondary. Ages ago though. Hardly remember it now.”

Aziraphale laughed. It was such a joyful sound but there was something shy about it that Crowley wanted to chase away. Aziraphale had no reason to be shy. Didn’t he know that Crowley was basking in every moment they spent together like a reptile in the sun?

“I suppose it’s not something that would stick with you as a teenager. Unless you’re the sort to spend his lunch hours in the library cross referencing translations. Not exactly a popular activity. What about you? What were you like in school?”

“Me?” Crowley asked, wrinkling his nose in an affectation of deep thought. “I ate books for breakfast. Not a second went by without a book in my hand. I took to wearing tartan. And bow ties. Wanted people to look at me and say _now there’s a bloke who likes books.”_

“I know you’re teasing me but that’s unfortunately on the nose,” Aziraphale said, leaning back as the waitress placed their meals in front of them. “Though I’ll have you know, tartan is stylish.”

“Next you’re going to tell me how much you like tweed.”

“It’s functional!” Aziraphale protested as he picked up his knife and fork.

Crowley shook his head, ready to dig in to his own lunch when he heard a noise. He nearly dropped his fork when he looked up just as Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut, golden lashes spread over his cheeks. Had that been - Certainly not. People did not _moan_ when they ate. That was something that only happened in cartoons and romance novels. Not real life.

And then Aziraphale made the noise again and Crowley couldn’t mistake it. The noise _had been_ a moan. Crowley was sure of it. Not a loud one but something soft. A pleased exhalation.

Crowley was glad he hadn’t taken a bite of his food because he was certain it would have fallen out of his mouth. Aziraphale should sell tickets to watching him eat. Crowley would buy the lot.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and Crowley knew he was staring but he couldn’t look away. Cocking his head curiously, Aziraphale pushed out the plate, “Would you like to try some? It’s very good.”

Crowley absolutely did _not_ want to try some because it would rob Aziraphale of another beloved bite but he didn’t know how to say no without explaining which he couldn’t do either. So he took his fork and speared a little crust and sauce.

He nodded noncommittally after he swallowed. “Decent.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly. “Try your pasta.”

What Crowley would rather be doing was cradling his chin in his hands and carefully watching as each bite disappeared into Aziraphale’s pink mouth. Watch as that jaw worked carefully, as he hummed around each bite. Would he make that noise again? That pleased one?

That noise was going to haunt his dreams for weeks. It was the sort of noise Crowley thought Aziraphale would make when he was kissed. A surprised, happy sound that Crowley would be able to taste.

He shouldn’t be thinking any of that so he looked back at his plate, swirled some pasta onto his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. The sauce didn’t have enough pepper but the pancetta was good, noodles decently cooked.

“Mm, it’s alright,” Crowley said with a shrug. His heart was still rioting and the idea of kissing Aziraphale was still roaring through his mind. If there hadn’t been a table between them, he might have done it. Thank god for tables.

“Alright?” Aziraphale repeated, scandalized.

“Mine’s better. This pasta’s not homemade,” Crowley said, words leaving his mouth before he gave them permission. What was it about Aziraphale that made him so honest? Was it the eyes? They were so big and trusting and they made Crowley’s heart - and mouth apparently - do stupid things.

Aziraphale goggled at him. “You - you make your own pasta?”

Crowley’s ears grew hot. It was probably weird. A mechanic making his own pasta. “Yeah. S’not that hard. You’d like it. I should make it for you some time.”

He wanted to bite his tongue. Why had he said that? He was getting ahead of himself.

But Aziraphale’s face softened. “I’d like that very much.”

Crowley’s stomach twisted itself into some very complicated knots. Had he just asked Aziraphale on a second date? Had he said yes?

Had this even been a first date?

He cleared his throat and focused on his food, overwhelmed by the possibility of seeing Aziraphale again. Anything that came out of his mouth would surely be nonsense so he didn’t say anything at all.

It didn’t matter though because Aziraphale chattered happily about his friend that Crowley had met, apologized for her brashness, and then told several stories that made it clear to Crowley that her brashness was exactly why Aziraphale liked the girl in the first place.

And then it was lemon meringue pie.

If Crowley had thought Aziraphale’s main dish had been a trial to sit through - steak and kidney pie was not sexy in the least so he was just being ridiculous and smitten - the dessert was an animal all its own.

Crowley fisted his hand in his lap as Aziraphale sank the tines of his fork into the yellow and white slice, the meringue giving way easily as he scooped up a bite. He was already humming before he even placed the fork in his mouth, his body doing some sort of excited shimmy that made Crowley want to wrap his arms around him and squeeze. This was bad. Terrible. This wasn’t just _I want to bend him over this table and fuck him_. It was _let’s make love in the sunlight and hold each other_.

Terrible.

Aziraphale slipped the fork between his lips, sighing with pleasure.

Crowley was certain he made a noise. Perhaps a choking sound because Aziraphale’s eyes popped open and he licked his lips with a dart of his tongue and said, “Have a bite, my dear.”

 _My dear_ rang like a fucking gong in Crowley’s ears and his body went numb as he took his own bite of dessert.

“See!” Aziraphale said excitedly. “What do you think? And if you say decent I’ll -”

“Supple,” Crowley said around a mouthful of lemon and fluff.

Aziraphale dipped his chin and clucked his tongue. “You are _definitely_ teasing me.”

“You’re the one who described it as _supple_ in the first place,” Crowley retorted, astounded at his ability to keep up a conversation given how his mind was dancing around the words _my dear_ and replaying the look on Aziraphale’s face as meringue had dissolved in his mouth.

“It’s a reasonable word and an apt description,” Aziraphale protested, satisfied smile dancing over his face and his eyes twinkling.

Crowley had to be imagining that last bit because eyes certainly did _not_ twinkle.

* * *

The pie was just as good as Aziraphale remembered, and fairly improved by the company. Even Crowley, who didn’t have Aziraphale’s enthusiasm when it came to food, declared it “good” so Aziraphale considered that a success. Crowley had also offered to make him dinner at some point in the future which was far and away better than Aziraphale had expected.

He’d dropped him off at the garage with a polite goodbye and watched those hips as Crowley had swung himself inside.

It had been over far too quickly. An hour and a half of time with the man was not enough. Why did Crowley have to be _fun_ on top of being so attractive? It was unfair to the rest of the world really. But at least Crowley had offered an opportunity to see each other again. A sign that he didn’t find Aziraphale dreadfully dull.

Aziraphale wondered what it would be like to have Crowley over to his place again, this time as a guest. To see him kick off his shoes and saunter inside, show Aziraphale how to make pasta, probably getting one of his tight fitting black shirts covered in flour and looking more adorable for it.

* * *

The week after their lunch, even Crowley could admit he was a bit of a disaster. He went to work on Monday with his shirt inside out. On Tuesday, he forgot his socks. Bee kept glaring at him and Crowley had studiously avoided their gaze, worried they were going to ask how the lunch had gone. Crowley hardly knew, excitement and nerves warring inside him.

The days went on and Aziraphale still didn’t call. By Thursday, the gnawing disappointment in Crowley’s gut had turned to a dull ache

Crowley didn’t know why he thought Aziraphale would call. He’d reached out, put an offer on the table. _I should make it for you sometime._ He wanted to see Aziraphale again. He’d made that clear. And now Aziraphale needed to take the next step.

Crowley didn’t want to be needy. He didn’t want to press. If Aziraphale wasn’t interested, then he wasn’t interested.

Whatever. Crowley shouldn’t have thought any differently. Aziraphale knew Latin and Greek and taught at university. He was handsome as a Renaissance painting and fucking _kind_. Someone like that could be with anyone. Why would he want to pursue a mechanic with track marks on his arms?

He wouldn’t apparently.

Bee, in usual parental fashion, had dragged him to their weekly pub night with no consideration for his desire to feel sorry for himself.

“You’ve been off all week. I’m not going to let you go home and wallow,” they had said as they shut off the garage lights and shoved him out the door. “You’re coming with me and I’m going to get you a pint and you’re going to wipe the floor with Ligur at billiards - which always improves your mood. Don’t lie.”

So Crowley had grumbled - but only a little - and let Bee force him into their usual dark corner in one of the shoddier pubs in Tadfield. One not filled to bursting with kids from uni, only an occasional grad student drowning their sorrows at the bar.

Ligur and Hastur had shambled in, knocking elbows and being cute in that disgusting way of theirs. Not that Crowley usually minded - to each their own - but he was feeling sullen.

“How’s it going, Crowley?” Ligur said, squeezing his shoulder. He always said Crowley’s name with a slight hitch. Like it was Crow-lee. It used to bother him but he’d grown used to it. One of Bee’s friends’ many quirks. Like Hastur’s manic laugh.

Bee really did collect people like misfit toys.

“S’alright,” Crowley said, hunching around his pint and hoping his body language would put a stop to any questions.

“Crowley’s moping because that professor never called him back,” Bee said with a sharp-toothed smile, staring at Crowley with their beetle black eyes as if to urge him to explain.

Crowley looked at his hand where it was wrapped around his pint glass.

“It was just lunch. It doesn’t matter,” Crowley said before taking a deep drink.

Hastur and Ligur exchanged a look. “Professor? What professor?”

“Yeah, some posh fellow asked Crowley out last Saturday,” Bee said before settling back in their chair and watching the vultures descend.

Crowley liked Hastur and Ligur well enough but they had no social skills to speak of. It’s why they were perfect for each other really. But it also meant they asked weird, invasive questions.

“A date?” Hastur asked looking between Ligur and Crowley in disbelief. “You never go on dates.”

“Yeah, didn’t mean to go on this one either. Apparently, it wasn’t even a date. I dunno,” Crowley said, absurdly thankful for his sunglasses because he was sure that without them his friends would immediately know that he was more upset than he was owning.

“Well, his loss,” Ligur said decisively and then Hastur was nodding his head in agreement.

“I’m sure you could pull someone here if that was your style,” Ligur pointed out, already scanning the room to see what was on offer.

Crowley shook his head. “Nah. No, not for me. Not tonight. M’not feeling it.”

Bee leaned forward, elbow resting on the table, low pub lighting reflecting off their black hair and making it shine. “Enough of the feelings then. Billiards. Loser buys next round.”

Hastur emitted one of his terrifying giggles and Ligur grinned. “You’re on.”

* * *

Aziraphale had no idea how he ended up at a pub on a Friday night. Anathema had punched him in the arm and demanded he get to know her new boyfriend. Aziraphale had raised his eyebrows at boyfriend and Anathema had stuck her tongue out.

“I like him, alright?” she had said and for just a minute Aziraphale saw real nerves beneath her normally careless demeanor. Which was new. And a bit strange.

So he’d taken pity on her and patted her hand and said, “Well, then I’ll be there. I should get to know your young man.”

It was unfortunate timing really, Anathema getting into a relationship. All it made Aziraphale think of was how Crowley had never called after their lunch. He’d thought it had gone so well and yet he was left with an empty answering machine and quite a bit of disappointment.

When he’d mentioned his disappointment to Anathema she had said, “Well, why don’t you call him?”

“I can’t exactly call and ask him to cook me dinner. That’s awfully rude,” Aziraphale had replied which just made her blow a raspberry at him.

Aziraphale wished he had confidence like Anathema. She was apparently the sort of person who could go to a pub and get someone to go home with her. Aziraphale had gone home with someone from a pub exactly once many, many years ago at uni and the experience had left him feeling rather unsanitary and wholly unsatisfied.

If he were Anathema, he wouldn’t have left his lunch with Crowley without firm plans for their next outing. He would have called Crowley, bugger expectations. But he wasn’t Anathema. He was bumbling Aziraphale, better suited to a book than company, and that was _fine_.

He simply wished he could forget the entire thing, the way the sunlight in the cafe had lit Crowley’s hair and the shadow of stubble on his cheek emphasizing his mouth when he smiled. He’d smiled so easily at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale sighed and walked up to the bar to order the nicest glass of wine they had. Which would probably be from some fifteen pound bottle that had seen better days.

Anathema appeared at his elbow just as the barkeep was pouring him a glass.

“You made it!” she cried, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Her enthusiasm had him flustered. He’d been so deep in his own morose thoughts that he hadn’t been expecting it.

Newt shuffled up beside Anathema and gave Aziraphale a little wave. “Hi, Professor Fell. I’m, er, Newt. Newton. Pulsifer. You might have seen me around.”

Aziraphale swallowed around a laugh. The poor nervous lad.

“I know who you are, dear boy. Please call me Aziraphale outside of work,” Aziraphale said, scooping up his glass of wine and leaving money on the counter. He took a sip of the purported merlot and was pleasantly surprised. “In fact, you can call me Aziraphale at work as well.”

Newt bobbed his head. “Right then. Do you want anything to drink?” he asked Anathema.

Aziraphale surveyed the pub while they got their drinks. Overall, not very nice. The lighting was alright and the clientele seemed to be enjoying themselves but it wasn’t exactly Aziraphale’s scene. In the far back of the bar, there were a few young men playing darts and the edge of a billiards table was visible around a corner.

Anathema dragged the both of them to a booth by the windows, but just as she set down her drink, she gasped.

Aziraphale looked at her in concern. “Are you -”

“Aziraphale, it’s your mechanic,” she hissed, jabbing her finger in the direction of the billiards table which, from this angle, Aziraphale could now see.

Oh dear.

He would recognize that hair anywhere, the way it fell about Crowley’s neck as he leaned forward to align his shot, his black shirt riding up just enough to expose a narrow strip of skin above his waistband. There was the faintest shadow along his back like, if that shirt rode up just another inch, Aziraphale would be able to see the dimples of his back. Aziraphale watched the flex of his bicep under the sleeve of his black t-shirt as he snapped the cue against the ball, the sharp clatter ringing in Aziraphale’s ears.

Aziraphale clutched at his wine glass, almost certain he was hallucinating.

“His mechanic?” Newt repeated, twisting in his seat to see where Aziraphale was staring. “Oh. He’s fit.”

Aziraphale let out a noise that perhaps only dogs could hear and sat frozen in horror as Anathema marched over to the tables and started talking to Crowley, pointing back at Aziraphale and Newt as she spoke. Newt waved awkwardly when the group of people Crowley was with turned to stare at them. Aziraphale took a long sip of his wine and wished the floor might swallow him up.

Anathema trotted up to the table. “Crowley says that we can join them if we’d like.”

Apparently, Aziraphale wasn’t going to be consulted on what they liked because Anathema was already grabbing her drink and Newt’s arm before striding back across the pub.

Nothing for it then.

Aziraphale stood on trembling legs and followed after his friends. He was being silly. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been rejected before.

“Hullo, Aziraphale,” Crowley said with a wry grin when Aziraphale finally joined Anathema and Newt beside the billiards table. The smile showed off his dimples. How could someone just _look_ like that?

Aziraphale managed a small smile and polite nod in return. “Crowley.”

That sharp grin wavered and when it returned, it looked pasted on. “Right. Your turn Ligur.”

A man emerged from the shadows, trailed by a man even paler than Crowley.

“I’m going to wipe the floor with you,” the man - Ligur presumably - said, leaning forward to line up his own shot as Crowley began to circle the table, head tipped down so the green felt of the table reflected in his lenses.

A person appeared at Aziraphale’s elbow, making him jump. They had shiny black hair cut messily over their ears and their eyes put Aziraphale in mind of an insect, hard and black.

“You’re the professor then,” they said, voice flat.

“Erm, I am _a_ professor,” Aziraphale said. “But I’m not sure -”

“No,” they said. Their nostrils flared wide. “Crowley’s professor.”

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered hopelessly. _Crowley’s_. “Well, Crowley did fix my car, however that’s really the only contact we’ve had.”

“You took him to lunch.”

Why did Aziraphale feel like he was being interrogated? And where was Anathema to stop this from happening?

“I did, yes. As a thank you.”

Those black eyes narrowed and they said, “Don’t be an arsehole.”

Before Aziraphale could even reply, they drifted off to the bar, empty glass in hand. Had that actually just happened?

“Don’t mind Bee too much.”

Aziraphale heart lept into his throat as he turned back to face Crowley. “So that was - that was Bee then?”

“The one and only,” Crowley replied. He’d put on one of those shirts he seemed to favor, the ones that buttoned up the front, long sleeves covering up those deliciously toned arms.

Aziraphale swallowed. He was letting his thoughts get away from him.

“To be totally honest, I thought they were a ghost and I’d gone beyond the veil or some such,” Aziraphale confessed with a thready laugh, wiggling his fingers in front of his face and doing an approximation of ghostly noises. Which he realized was ridiculous just as he started doing it.

Crowley’s eyebrows made an appearance above his sunglasses, the lines on his forehead crinkling as they climbed. One corner of his mouth ticked up.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit weird?” Crowley asked as the other corner moved to join the first. A real smile. An easy one.

Before Aziraphale could reply, Ligur called out, “Your turn, Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s mouth went dry as Crowley approached the table. Long fingers wrapped around the cue, the tendons in his hands standing out as Crowley settled his grip. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was breathing when Crowley leaned over the table, the sides of his chambray shirt falling open as he lined up the shot. His hair was back but some threads still escaped, falling over his face in delicate wisps.

How strange to think of anything about Crowley as delicate. All those harsh angles and hard planes and yet those fine hairs made Aziraphale’s stomach ache with want.

Crowley’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath, a beating heart, before he struck. The knock of billiards seemed impossibly loud.

“You know,” Anathema began from his side. When had she gotten there? Probably at some point during the last heartstopping minute. “If you asked him out properly, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Was lunch not proper?” Aziraphale hissed under his breath, not wanting to be heard as his focus was still on Crowley, the way his hips dipped around the edge of the pool table, the sink of his teeth into his bottom lip as he focused. Aziraphale could bite that lip.

“Ask him to dinner. Or drinks. Or to your goddamned apartment,” Anathema said. “You look like you could eat him alive right here.”

The fact of the matter was that Aziraphale _could_ eat him alive right here. He pictured pushing Crowley back against the walnut wood of the billiards table, dropping to his knees and taking his cock into his mouth. He could picture how Crowley would look with his head tossed back in pleasure, those wisps of hair caught at the corner of his open mouth.

Aziraphale was definitely turning red and then Crowley looked up. It was hard to tell with the glasses but Aziraphale felt certain their eyes met.

Aziraphale sighed and put his head in his hands. “I know you’re right, Anathema. I know.”

* * *

Aziraphale kept looking at him. Crowley could feel it. Little darting glances between his conversations with his friends. Crowley had to resist the urge to put on a show.

With the way Aziraphale was looking at him, Crowley thought he could probably saunter over to him, hook a finger in the v of his argyle sweatervest and drag him to the bathroom and suck him off.

But Crowley didn’t do that anymore. Much as he wanted to be on his knees for Aziraphale. That wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.

He wanted to _date_ Aziraphale. Do stupid things like spoon and hold hands. Fucking in a bathroom didn’t exactly lead to that.

When he did, in fact, wipe the floor with Ligur, Crowley leaned against the wall with the remainder of his beer in his hand. He didn’t drink often. It hadn’t ever been his drug of choice but he enjoyed coming out to the pub with Hastur and Ligur and Bee and watching them get shitfaced. Well, Bee didn’t get shitfaced. Crowley couldn’t even imagine what that would be like.

He tipped his head back against the wall and took a deep breath. Behind his eyelids he could see the look on Aziraphale’s face as his friend - the witchy girl - had dragged him over. He’d looked scared, nervous as a skittish deer. Crowley had wanted to comfort him, make him feel welcome.

“Taking a break?”

Crowley’s eyes fluttered open. He tilted his head to look at Aziraphale. He looked good in the low pub light, casting his whole body in a luscious glow. Crowley wanted to tip his chin back with two fingers, capture the wine red stain of his mouth. Instead, he finished his drink.

“Something like that,” Crowley admitted, looking at his feet. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just ask -

“Would you like another drink?” Aziraphale asked, stealing the words from Crowley’s mouth. “On me.”

Crowley stared at him. Did Aziraphale - was he really -

In the silence, the light in Aziraphale’s eyes steadily grew dimmer as Crowley struggled to respond.

“Oh, of course not,” Aziraphale said, a flicker of a smile. “I should have known. When you didn’t call…”

Everything clicked into place. Aziraphale hadn’t called. But Crowley hadn’t called either.

Shit.

“No,” Crowley said, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer to Aziraphale who blinked at him in surprise. “I mean, yes. A drink. But on me. After all, it’s my turn. You paid for lunch.”

Aziraphale put a delicate hand on his elbow and he might as well have kissed Crowley directly on the mouth for how intense Crowley’s reaction was. His stomach grew tight and hot and all he wanted was to fold Aziraphale into his arms and feel all that softness against him.

“That would be lovely,” Aziraphale said, hand curling around his elbow before retreating.

They would have a drink.

And Crowley wouldn’t fuck it up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update schedule is not representative of what i will probably be sticking to but this chapter happened quickly so i decided to post!
> 
> all of your comments have blown me away. thank you so much! i've been using my free time to write instead of replying but i'll be replying soon! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for allusions to homophobia, past abusive relationships, past homelessness, and past drug use
> 
> beta'ed by LoudAlligator and seekwill. Thanks for supporting me on this chapter. You, as always, made it better.

The stained glass light behind the bar cast Aziraphale’s face in red, emphasizing the shadows of his laughter lines and the crinkles around his eyes that grew more pronounced when he smiled. It made the color of his eyes even more mutable and impossible to define. Crowley was caught in his movements, a willing fly in a web.

“ - you see. I was _trying_ to explain the use of psychoactive substances and their impact on ancient culture but the students simply could not stop _giggling_.” Aziraphale paused and took a deep breath. He’d been speaking for a while now, caught up in his little tirade. Crowley had leaned his elbow on the top of the bar, resting his cheek against his closed hand and was simply watching Aziraphale speak. It was fascinating.

When he got excited, Aziraphale moved his hands, gesturing in small circles. His eyebrows did all sorts of wonderful things while he spoke even though he seemed to have trouble maintaining eye contact, gaze darting away at strange intervals. It was fine though. Because Crowley was just watching, listening, and if Aziraphale looked at him too much he’d probably get nervous.

Crowley had bought Aziraphale’s second drink and they had settled in at the bar. Their stools were close enough that they could knock elbows if they wanted to, close enough that Crowley could look down and appreciate the spread of Aziraphale’s thighs over the seat, the way his trousers hugged the length and breadth of them. Crowley wanted to sink his fingers into them. Worship them.

Crowley was still nursing his second pint and Aziraphale was on his third glass of wine. The drink seemed to relax him, make him glow. It was a wonderful opportunity to just take him in.

He was wearing a white shirt and olive green argyle sweatervest tonight. Crowley liked the look of him in his sweatervests, the way they cradled his belly, making him look like there was somehow more of him in the world. And more of someone like Aziraphale could never be a bad thing.

“I do love my students but it can be quite trying,” Aziraphale concluded before darting another glance at Crowley. Nervous. Looking for confirmation.

Crowley let his arm fall to the bar top, palm down. “Sounds like they enjoy your classes.”

Aziraphale huffed and shook his head, some of that shy self-deprecation that Crowley was beginning to sniff out and not like one whit. What did he have to mock himself for? “Well, most students in my classes are pursuing a degree in Classics so they have a passion for the topic. Their enjoyment hardly has anything to do with me.”

Aziraphale’s chin dipped, drawing Crowley’s attention to the soft place where his neck met his jaw, and making him want to reach out and touch. He circled his hand around his pint glass instead.

Crowley had no idea how long they had been talking, only that the more that they did, the more he realized he’d been an idiot not to call. He liked Aziraphale and something like that was worth risking making a fool of himself. No matter how terrifying it was.

At some point, Bee strode by, punching him on the arm and telling him to get home safe because they were leaving. Aziraphale had awkwardly asked if Crowley needed to go as well, but Crowley had shaken his head. He didn’t want the night - or the conversation - to end.

Hastur and Ligur barely paused to say goodbye, too busy staring into each other’s eyes as they left.

“Those two are quite the item,” Aziraphale said with a wry smile as they watched the door shut behind them.

Aziraphale’s lips were stained pomegranate pink and Crowley knew he was staring. They were just so plush and perfect, shining in the low red light. Even though Aziraphale couldn’t possibly see the direction of his gaze, Crowley still blushed. Or maybe Aziraphale did know because Crowley thought the tilt of his eyebrows might be the beginning of a smirk. He wanted to kiss it from his mouth, taste the flavor of the wine, be so close that he would smell that sandalwood smell.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah, they’ve been together as long as I’ve known them. S’a mystery. Bee doesn’t even know how they got together I think.”

Aziraphale hummed. “How do you know Bee? You seem awfully close.”

Crowley’s hand tightened around his glass. Were they really going to get into this?

Crowley took a deep breath. Skirt around the topic. Share enough to be honest but not too much. Don’t show the broken bits.

“I, er, used to date their brother,” Crowley said, staring at a scratch in the wooden top of the bar instead of looking at Aziraphale. The gouge was shaped like a jagged crescent moon. He closed his eyes against the ghost of pain in his cheek. Not real. A memory.

He recalled what Molly had told him during one of those final sessions. It had been nearly ten years and he still remembered so many of the things she had said.

_Things will come back to you at awful times. But you’ll handle it. If you can ground yourself in the moment, those feelings will pass._

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, Crowley’s glasses doing the work they were supposed to, hiding his feelings, hiding his past.

“Do you still - do you still see him then?”

Crowley scoffed much louder than he intended and Aziraphale’s eyebrows went up. Some of his old anger - the kind that only came after the grief had finally ebbed, poisonous and bitter - rose up inside him. “No. That bastard can burn in hell.”

Crowley drained his pint. He didn’t want another. It would make him morose. But he didn’t want to leave either.

A hand came to rest over his knuckles, making him freeze in his repetitive movements of scraping over the scar in the wood. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at Aziraphale.

“Let’s discuss other things then,” Aziraphale said with a soft understanding smile that had Crowley’s heart leaping into his mouth. “It’s been such a lovely evening.”

Aziraphale’s thumb rubbed over the back of his knuckles once before he withdrew. His skin was smooth and raised goosebumps all over Crowley’s arms, the muscles of his back tensing as he suppressed a shiver.

“Oi.”

The gruff voice of the bartender broke the moment. “It’s last call.”

Aziraphale put a hand to his mouth. “Oh, dear. I’ve absolutely lost track of time. Look at me, blathering on and keeping you here.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to,” Crowley replied with a great deal more confidence than he felt. His stomach was in knots. The night was over. He needed to - he needed to -

“Do you have a pen?” he said, turning towards the bartender who raised his eyebrows and then slid a pen across the bar.

Crowley reached over the bartop and plucked a cocktail napkin from the stack. He paused and took a deep breath so he’d feel a bit less like throwing up.

“So, homemade pasta...still interested?” he asked, knees quite weak from nerves. Thank God he was sitting down. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered from the pen in Crowley’s hand back to his face, eyebrows rising as surely as a smile spread over his face.

“Yes, I’d - I’d love that. If the offer’s still on the table,” Aziraphale said, finger tapping out a rhythm on the base of his wine glass. Maybe they were equally nervous. Equally terrible at this.

Scalp tingling with anticipation, Crowley scratched out his phone number. And then, after hesitating, his address.

“How’s Monday?” Crowley asked, staring at the cocktail napkin like it might hold the secrets of the universe.

“Perfect. More than perfect,” Aziraphale said, sounding happy enough that Crowley just had to look at him. _He_ looked perfect. How could someone exude so much joy?

“Alright, er, here.” Crowley shoved the napkin in Aziraphale’s direction. “My mobile and my address. You can come by my place. If you’d like.”

Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically, picking up the napkin with so much care that Crowley almost snatched it back, embarrassed by the feeling of intimacy settling around them.

“What time works best?” Aziraphale asked as they left the pub.

“7?” Crowley asked hopefully. He’d have time to shower but not enough time to fall into a pit of anxiety.

“I’ll be there,” Aziraphale said with a smile and a small bounce on the balls of his feet. He did that apparently, moved his whole body with joy.

They paused outside, the heat of the autumn night blanketing them as silence fell. Aziraphale stood in front of the pub window, the neon Open sign flickering above his head. The O looked like a makeshift halo and, not for the first time that night, Crowley thought: _angel_.

Crowley wanted to kiss him. If he’d had another beer, he probably would have. He would have sank his hands into that white blonde hair, curled his tongue into that plum of a mouth.

He passed a hand through his own hair and blinked away the urge. “I’ll see you around, then?”

Stupid pathetic Crowley doing stupid things like needing confirmation of something Aziraphale had _just said_.

His sharp regret disappeared when Aziraphale reached out and brushed his fingers over Crowley’s wrist, a subtle spark. “Monday. You’ll see me on Monday.”

Aziraphale gave him a smile that Crowley knew would get him through the weekend. He would replay it every moment he began to doubt because it was so full of hope and nerves and it was exactly how Crowley felt, his emotions reflected on that gorgeous face.

* * *

When Crowley walked into the garage the next morning, Bee was perched atop the hood of the Ford he’d been rewiring. They were in their normal mechanic’s jumpsuit, messy black hair pushed back from their face with a red bandana, their exposed eyes making Crowley want to squirm away. God, why did they look like they could read minds?

“What happened with the professor?” they demanded immediately even though Crowley hadn’t even set down his lunch. Or his thermos of coffee which he had accidentally forgotten to return to Aziraphale and which he'd kept using. Just because it was convenient.

He pushed his hair out of his face, trying to ignore the way Bee’s words set off a new wave of nerves in his gut. “We chatted. That’s it.”

Bee grunted, watching him as he went about gathering his tools. “You do like him then.”

Crowley swallowed hard and set down the needle-nose pliers in his hand. “Yeah,” he admitted even though the word gutted him. Why was this hard? He trusted Bee, probably more than anyone in the damn universe. He should be able to tell them things like this. “Yeah, I do.”

It was probably pathetic to have someone five years younger than him be a better parent to him than his own parents.

None of it was fair. Every single one of his therapists had said that. Even the shitty ones. Crowley had been a decent kid. He'd never been tapped as gifted but he got ok marks. His parents weren't proud but they weren’t disappointed. They weren’t disappointed until he turned 17 and he told them he was gay. His father had thrown a dish. His mother had wept. There had been some screaming. Some fists. Crowley didn’t remember what they said, but he remembered stuffing as much as he could into a duffel and a backpack before lifting himself out of his bedroom window and running off to his best friend’s house, eye newly blackened and ribs sore.

Between falling into bad crowds who showed him how much more fair things could seem when you were high, and trying his best to survive, Crowley was miserable and alone. Left on the wayside by person after person who wouldn’t let him stay. Eventually, he didn’t want to be miserable anymore. He started going to meetings. He met Luc. Luc helped him keep his head on straight while he picked up odd jobs and tried to stay clean.

It worked. Until it didn’t. Because life wasn’t fair and it wasn’t about to start being fair. Not for Anthony Crowley, named after his father, with his mother’s eyes that only ever got him into trouble by betraying his emotions to the whole damn world.

 _Stop looking at me like that_.

But Bee...Bee had barreled in on a rainy Tuesday, demanding a place to sleep. Luc gave them the guest bedroom. One less refuge for Crowley. He resented Bee at first for that. Except it turned out, when someone saves your life and helps you get clean without a judgmental word or any expectations, you stop resenting them.

Bee blinked at him, slow as a cat. “Is liking him a good thing?”

Crowley groaned and let his forehead rest on the side of the car. “I don’t know. It should be. He’s...he’s good, Bee. All kind and shit.”

Bee hopped off the hood of the car. “You deserve someone kind.” Crowley gave them an unimpressed look. “And shit.”

Crowley let out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s just been a long time since I felt this way about someone. Not since -”

“Don’t say the bastard’s name,” Bee hissed. “I’d eat my hat if Professor Sunshine is even remotely like him.”

Crowley turned to let his back rest against the passenger door of the Ford. Professor Sunshine. He pictured Aziraphale’s halo of golden hair. The way he seemed to glow at the edges. “You know, I think he might be an angel.”

Bee stared at him and then their face split open, mouth going wide as they started to cackle. “I take it back. Date him. Marry him. I want to hear you say shit like that for the rest of my existence.”

Crowley glared at Bee’s back as they wandered off in the direction of stereo. The song changed and Crowley groaned as _You Sexy Thing_ began to play.

_I believe in miracles, where you from? You sexy thing._

“Get back here, you arsehole!” Crowley cried but all he heard was more of that cackle drifting out of the darkness of the shop.

_Where did you come from, angel?_

* * *

Anathema poached a grape tomato from Aziraphale’s salad and grinned as she chewed it. “I told you.”

They were getting lunch in the mess hall, unable to get away long enough on Mondays for their usual cafe date. It was fine. The campus had decent food. At least the vegetables were fresh.

“Yes, thank you, Anathema,” Aziraphale said, unable to keep up any sort of playful grouchiness. He had a date. With Crowley. Just the thought had his stomach in fits. Would Crowley wear one of those gorgeously tight t-shirts? Leave his hair down?

Oh goodness, would he kiss Aziraphale?

Aziraphale put down his fork and closed his eyes. He needed to calm down and keep his expectations low. This was _most likely_ a date. If nothing happened then Aziraphale didn’t want to be disappointed. Though that was probably a useless endeavor.

“What are you going to wear?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows.

“Well...this,” Aziraphale said. He wasn’t exactly...changing his clothes wasn’t going to make him look _better_. He looked how he looked.

Anathema frowned. “Alright, well at least wear your blue bow tie. Makes your eyes pop.”

Aziraphale stared at her and then burst out laughing. She was truly a delightful girl. Even though she gave him a strange look, it wasn’t long before she was laughing too, shaking her head at him.

“What has you in such a good mood, Dr. Fell?” Gabriel boomed from behind him, making his shoulders curl in on themselves, mirth flooding out of him immediately.

Gabriel had this Voice. Like he was on the radio announcing sports.

“Aziraphale has a date,” Anathema said, cocking her head and curling her tongue behind her teeth, unable to keep herself from teasing Aziraphale apparently. Aziraphale tried to control the nerves wrapping around his heart. It would be fine.

“Good for you, Aziraphale!” Gabriel said and he couldn’t have sounded more insincere if he tried. “I’m sure she’s a lucky lady.”

“Actually, he’s -”

Anathema yelped when Aziraphale kicked her in the shin.

Gabriel patted him once on the back, large hand colliding with his shoulder blade and making him want to grow even smaller. “I’ll see you at office hours tomorrow? I wanted to go over your lectureship application.”

“R-right,” Aziraphale stammered. He got so tongue-tied around Gabriel. He didn’t want to slip up, make the mistakes he had at his last job.

“Fantastic,” Gabriel announced. And then he was gone. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. He loved his job. But he did _not_ love Gabriel.

“What the hell was that about?” Anathema demanded, giving him a good kick in the shin surely in retaliation for his own behavior. “Does he not know you’re -”

“No,” Aziraphale said sharply. “He does not. I don’t see why it’s any of his business.”

Anathema stared at him. It was a stare he’d gotten from her before, and not one he was very good at holding his ground against.

“Look, I don’t expect you to understand, my dear, but at my last position…” Aziraphale drifted off, a bit taken aback by the stab of hurt he still felt at the memory. Apparently, shame had no statute of limitations.

“I was let go because I was ‘not a good fit for the position.’ A statement that only occurred after I brought my partner to the annual holiday party.”

Anathema sucked in a breath and her eyes went wide. She leaned forward, fist on the table as she hissed, “That’s discrimination.”

“Yes, but how was I supposed to prove that?” Aziraphale snapped and then he closed his eyes to compose himself. This wasn’t Anathema’s fault. “I just want to…lie low, Anathema. Once I get a permanent contract, I don’t care who knows. But, for now, Gabriel…”

“Is a stodgy fucker and probably a homophobe?” Anathema finished for him.

“I wouldn’t use those words exactly but...er, yes,” Aziraphale admitted, fidgeting in his seat. He didn’t like talking about what happened at his last job. It made shame flare in his gut, a sort of shame he hadn’t felt about his sexuality in a very long time.

He wanted to put it all behind him. Forget it entirely. Especially now, because he had a date to look forward to.

* * *

Crowley pulled into his driveway and swore. Aziraphale was already there. He’d gotten stuck in the middle of rewiring a fuse box which had only unearthed more and more problems that he hadn't been able to get away from. He felt like a shit for leaving Aziraphale waiting for nearly half an hour.

Leaping from his car, he bounded up the steps to find Aziraphale observing the plant hanging from the beam of his roof. He was holding a canvas bag in his pretty hands and when he turned and saw Crowley his whole face lit up with a grin.

He looked good. He always looked good. His hair was especially messy today, sticking up in strange places. And he was wearing a sweatervest, the texture of it a mystery that Crowley wanted to solve with his hands. A blue and tan tartan bow tie was settled underneath his chin, a little crooked and begging to be undone. Crowley’s heart skipped as he fumbled with his keys. “Shit, I’m sorry. Work -”

“Don’t apologize,” Aziraphale said, ever polite, chin dipping. Fuck. That fold of skin. Crowley wanted to lick it. “I was happy to wait for you. I’ve been looking forward to this all weekend, you know.”

Was Aziraphale just going to say things like that? Crowley was bound to fall apart if he did.

Crowley nearly dropped his keys. “M’not - you shouldn’t - my food’s not _that_ good,” Crowley finally managed with some semblance of his normal sarcasm.

“What is this lovely thing?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head and peering at the plant he’d been inspecting.

“Bleeding heart,” Crowley replied offhandedly as he slipped his key into the lock, managing to unlock the damn door without making a fool of himself again.

“That’s quite morbid,” Aziraphale observed, holding his bag in front of himself as he waited for his turn to step over the threshold.

“Sorry about -” Crowley didn’t know what he was apologizing for. His place was always clean. A reflex then.

“My dear, what for?” Aziraphale replied, stepping in behind him and shutting the door. It made Crowley realize how dark his apartment was. How dreary. All his furniture was black and gray, his decorations more of the same.

If he’d had time before Aziraphale came over, he’d have at least opened the curtains, lit the single candle he had in his house. Apple cinnamon.

* * *

Aziraphale might faint. He hadn’t fainted in his entire life but if this lightheadedness persisted he may as well collapse. Crowley had run up the steps in one of his all black outfits, hair half up, face and clothes covered in patches of dust. Aziraphale could see the places where rivulets of sweat had run down his hairline, over his collarbone washing the dust away and leaving glistening tracks.

If he had pearls, he’d be clutching them.

“Please, Crowley, take a breath. There’s no rush,” he said as Crowley nearly tripped on his own boots, impossibly long limbs tangling on each other as he tried to unlace them.

Crowley stopped his frenetic movements and turned to look at him, eyebrows up, wrinkling his forehead as he bit his lip. “I should probably take a shower. Is that -”

“Quite alright, I can entertain myself you know,” Aziraphale said primly, deciding firmly that he would _not_ think about Crowley in the shower. “I brought wine. I could open that.”

Crowley waved at the archway to the right that led into the shadowed kitchen. “Opener’s in the drawer to the left of the fridge. Glasses are...uh...I don’t have wine glasses.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Aziraphale said with determination. “I’m quite creative, you know.”

Crowley said something under his breath that sounded like _I can imagine_ which set off a spark of excitement in Aziraphale.

“Just” - Crowley cleared his throat - “I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale nodded and tried not to stare at the sway of Crowley’s hips as he disappeared into the hallway. His shirt was rucked up in the back and he could see the shine of his belt, just a flash before Crowley was swallowed by the dark.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen, fumbling for a light switch which he finally discovered to the right of the sink. His eyes had just adjusted to the dark when the lights flared on, making him see spots. He heard the sound of a shower snicking on and turned his attention to the bottle of pinot gris that he drew out of his bag.

He followed Crowley’s instruction and pulled open the drawer to the left of the fridge. It was filled with a variety of cooking tools, some of which Aziraphale recognized and some that were entirely foreign. What did one need a flat whisk for? Was it broken?

The wine opener was settled in the back of the drawer so Aziraphale fished it out, making quick work of the cork before deciding the best course of attack for finding cups. He supposed having them close to the sink would make sense. So he started there and sure enough he found an assortment of glasses and mugs.

He spied a novelty mug and snorted; white with rubber ducks printed on it. Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled it out along with a plain black mug, pouring an equal amount of wine into each.

He took the black mug for himself and drifted back into the living room, tugging on the string of a lamp to illuminate the small room. The space was quite like Crowley, all neat tight black lines. Black bookshelf, black coffee table, black couch. Moth to a flame, Aziraphale wandered to the bookshelf, curious to see what Crowley would have. It was fairly sparse. A cassette audiobook of _The Screwtape Letters_ alongside a hardback copy. An annotated works of Shakespeare.

“Snooping?”

Aziraphale jumped, glad he’d set down his mug when he turned around and saw Crowley in the hallway. He was still wearing his sunglasses but his hair was wet and curling around his chin. He was wearing a dark gray henley, the sleeves coming down to his wrists. The color made him look somehow softer and the material of the shirt hugged the lines of his body in a way that made Aziraphale’s mouth water.

How could someone who looked like that want to spend another moment with him?

Aziraphale laughed to cover up his sudden nerves. “You caught me. I see a bookshelf and I just have to look.”

“M’not much of a reader,” Crowley admitted, mouth twisting in a way that Aziraphale didn’t like. He looked ashamed. Like maybe someone had said something cruel to him about it once. “I, er, listen to audiobooks sometimes.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, picking up his mug and crossing back to the kitchen. “I’ve never been one for audiobooks. I can never _focus_. Much too scatterbrained I’m afraid.”

That startled a laugh from Crowley which could only be a good thing. He followed Aziraphale into the kitchen and said, “Well, I’m usually doing something else while I listen.”

Aziraphale suppressed a smile as he snatched the duck mug from the counter and then pressed it into Crowley’s hands. His eyebrows went up as his cheeks grew pink.

“I told you I was creative,” Aziraphale said.

“Look, it was a gift from Bee -”

“Oh, you don’t have to explain why you have adorable novelty mugs in your house,” Aziraphale said lightly, perhaps enjoying Crowley’s disgruntled expression a bit too much.

Crowley grumbled but took a sip of the wine and then hummed in surprise. “This is nice. What sort is it?”

“Zind-Humbrecht Pinot Gris,” Aziraphale answered. He liked the finer things and wasn't exactly ashamed of that. Though perhaps Crowley would think it snooty.

“Well, that sounded like some words I don't know,” Crowley observed wryly, setting down the mug before opening the refrigerator to retrieve a carton of eggs.

When he bent forward, the wet strands of his hair fell about his face, obscuring his glasses and the cut of his cheekbones. Aziraphale wanted to push it back behind his ears. He also wanted to take off the glasses but if the man was wearing them inside his own home then surely there was something of import there.

“Right so, pasta. Pretty straightforward stuff,” Crowley began as he walked Aziraphale through the ingredients: salt, flour, and eggs. Straightforward indeed.

Crowley stood by the kitchen island, inviting Aziraphale to draw close as he explained the general proportions, how you had to measure by feeling the dough but there was always a starting place. Watching Crowley work was like a miracle in action, and Aziraphale was torn between watching his face and watching his hands. When he spoke his mouth moved so carefully, like he was creating each word with precision. Aziraphale caught a flash of his crooked incisors as he explained the best way to separate the yolk from the egg white. But his hands…to Aziraphale, they were a symphony. His knuckles bent and flexed, the tendons in the backs of his hands moving in a rhythm as they danced between flour and fork.

Aziraphale was hardly paying attention when Crowley pushed the fork into Aziraphale’s hand.

“See, you pour the eggs in the well in the flour and you need to mix the flour in bit by bit without breaking the well. Sort of folding it. Want to try?”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, the smell of dough mingled with the tangy scent of Crowley’s shampoo.

Crowley mistook his distraction for trepidation and laughed. “It’s easy. You can’t muck it up. Not really.”

Aziraphale nodded dumbly and began to push the little mountains of flour into the beaten eggs. He wasn’t much of a cook. Honestly, he lived on take away and prepackaged meals. It was difficult for him to remember to buy the right ingredients and to keep track of time to cook them. And whenever he did, the food was always lackluster. Somehow, he doubted anything Crowley created could be lackluster.

Once the eggs and flour were a lumpy mess, Crowley nudged him out of the way with his hip, the warmth of the touch making arousal tug in Aziraphale’s belly. What was it about this man that had him reacting like a teenager to even the smallest contact? He doubted he was even like this _as_ a teenager.

“Now we knead the dough for a bit,” Crowley said before pushing up the sleeves of his henley just high enough to reveal the delicate bone of his wrist and a smattering of golden red arm hair. There was a subtle masculine strength in the way he moved his hands that had Aziraphale breathing hard. Staring was doing nothing to settle Aziraphale’s steadily growing arousal so he looked at the taps and took another drink of wine.

When he managed to look back, what he saw didn’t help. Crowley was pressing into the dough with the heels of his hands, arms flexing as he rolled it back and forth and it grew smooth under his ministrations. His hair was drying slowly, curling into waves that Aziraphale hadn’t expected. It had always looked straight when he had seen Crowley before but like this he looked soft. Touchable and delicious.

Aziraphale realized Crowley was talking and he forced himself to focus.

“We’ll have to let the dough rest for a bit before we can start the actual cooking. Just a half hour or so.”

Aziraphale swallowed, unable to look away from the way Crowley’s shoulder blades moved under the thin fabric of his shirt. He wanted to touch so badly that he ached with it, trace his lines and angles, find the edges of him. He thought perhaps there might be none. That when he began to map him, he’d never be able to stop.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, looking into the black pit of the mug in his hand. “That’s perfectly fine. You can tell me more about this cooking hobby of yours.”

* * *

Crowley wrapped the finished dough in a tea towel and left it on the worktop. The wine was working wonders on taking the edge off his nerves. It was clearly some fancy stuff Crowley would never be able to afford. Or if he could afford it, he probably wouldn’t waste the money on it.

Aziraphale was a bit pink about the face when Crowley looked at him. A blush was a good look on him. Hell, everything was a good look on him.

“I dunno,” Crowley said with a shrug, turning on the taps to wash the flour from his hands. How was he supposed to explain without going too deep into his history? He reminded himself that he couldn’t hide forever. He didn’t just want to shag Aziraphale. No matter how much easier that would be. He took a deep breath and kept his eyes on his hands where they passed over the fabric of the kitchen towel he was using to dry them. “I...you remember that ex I mentioned?”

“Bee’s brother,” Aziraphale said quickly. Crowley didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“Yeah, er...when we - when we broke up, I was in a bit of a rough spot. Tried loads of stuff to take my mind off things. Cooking was one of them.”

Aziraphale hummed and Crowley,still wringing the towel in his hands, chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye. Aziraphale had cocked his head in consideration, expression open, just listening.

“Turned out I liked it. I was pretty good at it. So it stuck,” Crowley finished, finally tossing the abused tea towel onto the worktop.

“Well, the jury’s out on if you’re good at it,’ Aziraphale said, eyes alight. Teasing him. Crowley felt like he’d just bared some raw broken part of him and Aziraphale was _teasing_ him. Fuck, he was perfect.

He laughed. It was all he could do, he felt so relieved. “Are you the jury here?”

“Self-appointed,” Aziraphale said with a little back and forth wiggle of his head like he was delighted with himself. To be fair, Crowley was pretty fucking delighted with him.

They shared a smile and with terrifying clarity Crowley realized he could love that smile. It was already burrowing inside him, curling up and making a home for itself in between his ribs.

“You said you tried other things? Hobbies? Did anything else stick?” Aziraphale asked, still wonderfully lighthearted. Fuck fuck _fuck_. He was so _good_. What had Crowley done to deserve to have this fucking beacon in his apartment? He’d do it again a thousand times just to keep him here.

“Yeah,” Crowley admitted. The words skipped out of his mouth like a stone. “I restored a car. Am restoring.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, sounding absurdly interested in something a Classics professor had no reason to be interested in.

“Yeah, it’s...it’s in the garage downstairs. If you’d like to see it,” Crowley said, already kicking himself even as he spoke. The Bentley was in no fit state. She was rusty in places and missing a door.

But Aziraphale smiled and nodded. “Oh that would be lovely.”

So Crowley shoved his feet into his boots and led Aziraphale down the steps to the door of the garage. The sun had set while they had been inside and the lighting reminded Crowley of that first night when he’d helped Aziraphale get his bicycle from the gardening shed. He’d wanted to kiss him then. He still wanted to.

“It’s not...it’s not anything special,” he warned as he opened the door and flipped on the light.

Aziraphale stepped in after him and gasped. “Nothing special? My dear, what _is_ this? What sort of - oh, I don’t know anything about cars I’m afraid, but this is lovely.”

Aziraphale fluttered around the car like a nervous bird, hands coming out to touch and then retreating. Somehow, his presence made the Bentley look more presentable, it’s old black paint shining in the glow of him. He ran his hand over the smooth black surface of the hood before looking up at Crowley in awe. "This is gorgeous," he said. "How long have you been working on it?"

"Few years," Crowley said with a shrug. Nearly ten. He’d started on the Bentley just after Bee had helped him get away from Luc and tossed him into rehab. She’d been brought to Bee’s newly opened garage entirely decimated and when Crowley asked if he could have her, Bee had looked at him for a long moment before pressing the key into his hand without a word. He’d been treating her right ever since. Every time he had money to spare, he spent it on her.

Aziraphale shook his head. "It absolutely boggles my mind how you do this. All those moving parts and you just...you just know how they fit together. I can’t even begin to understand."

Aziraphale was looking at Crowley with such respect and pride that Crowley had to stop himself from fidgeting.

"Do you think - perhaps you could explain it all to me sometime? I'm afraid I may not understand it all but it seems so fascinating," Aziraphale said, stepping closer to Crowley. He was close enough that Crowley could feel the heat of him, smell his warm, spicy scent. Crowley was certain he’d split apart at the seams like an overstuffed ragdoll if he didnt do something.

And then Aziraphale was even closer, gaze tracing a mobius between Crowley’s eyes and his mouth. Crowley’s heart hammered in his chest, threatened to beat right out of his ears.

Aziraphale was so close, so warm. He licked his lips. “Crowley, I-”

Crowley hung on his words. What was this feeling? He was terrified that it was hope.

A hand - Aziraphale’s hand, gorgeous, warm, _everything_ \- came to rest on his chest, the featherlight touch of the pads of his fingers forcing the breath from Crowley’s lungs.

Then Aziraphale retreated, eyes going to the ground. “Thank you for showing me this.”

Crowley tried to remember to breathe. Where had all the air gone? Had Aziraphale been about to kiss him? Why hadn’t he?

“Do you think the pasta’s ready?” Aziraphale asked, smoothing a hand over his belly. Crowley wished he’d been able to touch him. He’d been standing so close. He should have done it. But now Aziraphale was crossing the room, one hand on the door knob and the moment was slipping away.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, proud of himself for managing a single word. He tried again. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, hesitancy slipping back into easy joy. That couldn’t be too bad then. He hadn’t fucked up yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are currently looking at weekly updates. since Serpent updates on friday/saturday, i anticipate this updating monday/tuesday until serpent finishes


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to seekwill and LoudAlligator for beta'ing  
> i owe a shout out to Blue_Sparkle, Eunyisadoran, and the entire GO Rom Com server for helping me develop extra Aziraphale thirst situations

Aziraphale was kicking himself. Crowley had been looking at him, damp hair curling so fetchingly over his ears. He’d been standing there, a mechanic with brilliant hands and a smart mouth and Aziraphale’s heart had been a wild thing in his chest. But then he’d stepped close, he’d looked up into Crowley’s eyes and all he’d seen was his own face reflected in empty lenses and he’d faltered. He’d pulled away.

He had no idea how Crowley had reacted to that, because he hadn’t been able to look at him, regret and fear warring in his gut as they returned upstairs and Crowley began to patiently explain how to make carbonara like Aziraphale hadn’t almost pushed him up against the side of his car and kissed him. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to work up the nerve. Crowley was just so…

Aziraphale nodded along as Crowley carefully chopped pancetta, hands deft and sure as the knife moved over the cutting board, a torrent of words - something about freshly ground pepper - more of that careful speech.

He couldn’t help but stare. Crowley’s henley was well-worn and loose about the neck, exposing the sharp jut of his collarbone, the dip just below his adam’s apple. It was another angle for Aziraphale to memorize.

When the food was ready, Crowley filled two bowls - respectable blue ones, no ducks unfortunately - and they settled at the stools that had been tucked under the island. It was comfortable, domestic, and perfect.

* * *

Crowley’s hand shook faintly around his fork. He tried to will it into stillness but the anticipation of Aziraphale placing the first bite into that pink mouth was too much. Would he make that noise that had haunted Crowley’s dreams? Close those mercurial eyes and hum quietly?

Thank God Aziraphale seemed absorbed in the food, inhaling the scent of the steaming dish and smiling softly. He didn’t notice Crowley staring.

Crowley’s heart raced as Aziraphale lifted the fork to his mouth, slipped the tines between his lips, and moaned. His shoulders drooped in exaltation as he hummed around the bite, honeyed eyelashes fluttering over his soft cheeks as he enjoyed this thing Crowley had made for him. Crowley felt a telltale stirring in his trousers, but couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Aziraphale swallowed, throat working underneath his white collar. He opened his eyes and Crowley couldn’t breathe.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale said quietly, eyes not leaving Crowley’s which was doing nothing for Crowley’s ability to take in air. Even in repose, Crowley could see the places where Aziraphale’s face would crinkle with joy, the lines around his eyes belying a long history of smiles and laughter.

“I’m, er, glad you like it,” Crowley said after he finally sucked in a breath.

Aziraphale shimmied in his seat, shoulders moving like he couldn’t contain himself. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“So the jury says I’m alright then?” Crowley teased, letting Aziraphale’s happiness buoy his own.

Aziraphale nodded emphatically, already scooping up another bite. “More than alright. Though we’ll have to test your dessert skills out. Just to make sure.”

Crowley’s stomach swooped as he dropped his gaze to his steadily cooling pasta. Aziraphale hadn’t kissed him. In fact, he’d run off. And yet, here he was implying that they should do this again. Crowley was already running through a list of all the desserts he knew how to make and which he thought Aziraphale would like best.

“What sort of dessert did you have in mind?” Crowley asked after he swallowed his own first bite. It had turned out alright if he did say so himself.

Aziraphale hummed, set down his fork, and took a sip of wine. “What if I suggested something you had no idea how to make?”

“Then I’d learn how,” Crowley said before he could stop himself. Stupid, needy -

“Oh, that’s - I wouldn’t want you to go through any trouble,” Aziraphale said, eyes once more downcast.

Embarrassed and not wanting to press, Crowley offered, “How about this? Do you like chocolate?”

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped to his face. In Crowley’s bright kitchen lights, they were crystal blue, fading into gray at the edges. “I love chocolate.”

Crowley reduced his list of dessert options and resolved to think on it. “Well, that’s a good starting place. I’ll come up with something. For next time.”

A smile curved Aziraphale’s mouth, a small secret thing that Crowley want to feel the shape of against his lips. Aziraphale’s mouth would be soft. He’d taste of apple crisp wine and salted butter.

Crowley stuffed some pasta in his mouth.

“Your apartment is lovely, you know,” Aziraphale said, breaking the silence. “Have you lived here long?”

“Ever since I moved to Tadfield,” Crowley said, flopping an errant noodle back and forth in his bowl.

Aziraphale chuckled. “When I first moved here, I lived in this little ramshackle studio over on Hogsback. It took a year or so but I found a house I loved.”

“It’s a nice place,” Crowley remarked. Was it weird to say that when he’d only been there twice? He felt like he remembered every warm corner, the texture of the kitchen worktop under his hands.

“I will say it fits my books a far sight better than the studio,” Aziraphale said wryly, already scraping the bottom of his bowl.

Crowley had managed about three bites in between speaking and watching Aziraphale. He didn’t feel particularly hungry, his nerves making it nigh on impossible, but there was a deep satisfaction inside him at the thought that something he had created had brought Aziraphale pleasure. That he’d taken care of him. Even if it was barely the beginning of all the ways Crowley wanted to take care of him. The way that Crowley wanted to unwrap him, layer by layer until he could settle him back on his bed, spreading his fingers over the expanse of Aziraphale’s body, soothe every inch with his hands, with his tongue. Kiss the salt from his mouth. Hear that posh voice say his name, ragged as anything, while Crowley took care of him.

“Would you like more wine?” Aziraphale offered, holding up the bottle and smiling easily. It drew Crowley back to reality so quickly that he nearly had whiplash.

“Sure, yeah. Good stuff, that,” Crowley blabbered like his words would hide his thoughts. That’s what the sunglasses were for.

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow, surely surprised by Crowley’s weird behavior, and poured some more wine into Crowley’s ridiculous rubber duck mug. Maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous. Because it allowed Aziraphale to tease him and Crowley loved when Aziraphale teased him. It made his eyes go all twinkly as they filled with mischief, a unique smile on his face.

Aziraphale took another satisfied sip of his wine. “Thank you for inviting me tonight. Would you perhaps…” Aziraphale drifted off, eyes darting away and then fixing on Crowley’s face, a certain steadiness to them like Aziraphale had made a decision. “There is a cafe downtown that opened recently. I thought perhaps I could continue to expand your culinary experiences in Tadfield. Starting there. On Saturday.”

Crowley started smiling. He knew he was smiling because he could feel the muscles in his face moving. He wasn’t moving them though because he’d floated up and out of his body, currently living somewhere in the vicinity of the hanging kitchen lights as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Another date. Or at least seeing each other again. Not some implied future plan. A real one. And Aziraphale had asked.

“I could probably accuse you of trying to fatten me up,” Crowley’s mouth said. Oh God, was that what he sounded like?

“Yes, you’ve caught me. I do have a cauldron with your name on it. I’ve been trying to determine how many onions would make you taste the best. Do you have any suggestions?” Aziraphale said without missing a beat, mouth twisting with that snark Crowley fucking _loved_.

“I think I taste better without onions.”

Horrified, the sentence slammed Crowley back into his body in time to catch Aziraphale as his mouth dropped open. Crowley almost choked out an apology, but Aziraphale beat him to it. “I’m sure that’s true,” Aziraphale said before taking another drink from his mug of wine.

This was flirting, wasn’t it? Terrible flirting but flirting. It felt like hurtling down a hill on a bicycle with no brakes.

Pivoting to avoid crashing entirely, Crowley asked, “So what cafe were you thinking?”

“La Brioche. Their brunch is to die for. I thought we could go and maybe...the gallery on the square has a new artist on display. I’ve been meaning to visit.”

Crowley wasn’t sure if he was the right type of person to visit an art gallery, but it sounded like an opportunity to spend an entire afternoon with Aziraphale. He wasn’t going to say _no_ to something like that. It wasn’t like he didn’t like art. He just didn’t know all the whatsits of going to _galleries_ and _museums._ He wasn’t exactly the gallery type.

“That all sounds nice,” Crowley said, finishing his now cold pasta and letting his fork clink against the bowl when he was done. When he looked up, Aziraphale was doing that beaming thing again.

“You’re going to love it. La Brioche has _fantastic_ crepes. Some of the best I’ve had outside of Paris.”

“See, that’s a thing I don’t know how to make. Crepes,” Crowley said, more surefooted now that he wasn’t hamfistedly hitting on Aziraphale.

Aziraphale let out a soft _ah_ and sat back. “I can’t say I know either. However, they are quite delicious.”

Moving beyond dinner, they chatted easily, first about Aziraphale’s day then Crowley’s - Aziraphale wanted to know about rewiring fuses - but at some point got off topic and started arguing about whales. (Killer whales are not whales. It is a _misnomer_.) Eventually, the clock ticked towards ten, Crowley only realizing the hour when Aziraphale stifled a yawn into his fist.

“Perhaps I should call it a night,” Aziraphale said with a sad look at the blinking microwave clock.

Crowley stood and collected their dishes, depositing them in the sink and trying to ignore his disappointment. They had to part ways eventually. He couldn’t stop thinking about that moment downstairs. The look on Aziraphale’s face. Had it meant what he had hoped?

* * *

Aziraphale grabbed his canvas bag from the counter and headed to the door. He didn’t want to leave, but if he didn’t go home soon, he’d never get to sleep. Crowley trailed after him, playing the good host and opening the door for him.

His hair was finally dry, and Aziraphale now knew for certain it’s natural texture made it fall in uneven waves nearly to his shoulders. They were almost of a height, Crowley just an inch or so taller than him, and when Aziraphale finally turned to look at him he was biting his bottom lip. Aziraphale wanted to kiss him. He should just do it. If he waited too long then Crowley would think he only wanted to be friends. And that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s arm, shocked at the way the contact made his stomach clench with want. _You can do this._

Crowley was so near, so real, and Aziraphale wanted him. He wanted to feel the give of his mouth under his own. He wanted so much that it was terrifying.

Rising up on his toes, Aziraphale lost his nerve at the last second, brushing his lips over Crowley’s cheek - soft, warm - and settling back to the ground with a hammering heart. “Thank you. For tonight.”

Crowley’s eyebrows were up impossibly high. “Any time.”

Aziraphale smiled. His disappointment at himself didn’t last long because Crowley was doing this thing with his face like he was smiling while somehow not smiling. It was intoxicating.

“Saturday then.”

Crowley nodded, leaning his weight against the door as a real smile appeared. “Have a good night, angel.”

With that, Aziraphale found himself drifting down the staircase, high on _angel_ and the lingering sensation of Crowley’s skin against his lips.

* * *

When Crowley walked into the shop the next morning, Bee took one look at him and said, “You look like shit.”

Crowley grumbled at them mockingly through bared teeth before slopping his things down on the nearest empty surface. He’d barely slept the night before.

After Aziraphale had left, Crowley had definitely washed the dishes at some point because the front of his shirt had been damp and sudsy when he took it off for bed, but he couldn’t remember. He’d been caught up in the memory of Aziraphale pushing close, the brush of his lips. It wasn’t as good as a real kiss, a _maybe we’ll end up in bed someday_ kiss, but it had Crowley feeling like he had a real chance.

He’d laid awake thinking about it. Probably for far too long. Aziraphale’s hand had been on his arm, strong and sure. For a brief second, his weight had leaned into him and Crowley’s stomach had flipped in anticipation just before lips brushed over skin. Aziraphale’s soft hair had brushed against his cheek as he pulled away. It had just been a kiss on the cheek, but Crowley couldn’t stop replaying the moment as hope sang him to sleep.

“Date go bad then?” Bee asked, voice muffled as they slipped under one of the cars on the creeper.

“No, it was good. Better than,” Crowley grunted, not exactly in the mood for conversation. He was tired. And also terrified he’d start saying lovestruck things that Bee would mock him for forever. He shrugged off his overshirt and tossed it on a toolbox. When would this damn heat wave break? It was nearly October for fuck’s sake.

Except, with the heat, he got to see things like Aziraphale’s pink-stained cheeks, the flex of his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves in an effort to cool down.

He bumped into the corner of the shopvac and watched it wheel away. He needed to focus.

Bee slid out from under the car. “Are we back to you knocking things over?”

“Shut up,” Crowley growled. He needed something to focus on. Something easy and straightforward. Rotating the tires on a Land Rover that had come in the day before would be a fine place to start.

“So I take it you didn’t shag him,” Bee said, levering themselves to their feet.

“Oi!” Crowley protested even as he knocked his shin into the bumper of the Land Rover thinking about _shagging Aziraphale_. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Bee snorted. “Professor Sunshine too good for a shag? You want to _make love_ or some shite?”

Crowley ignored the way his stomach twisted around at Bee’s words. They were very unfortunately right. Crowley didn’t want a quick fuck. He wanted to lay Aziraphale out and explore every inch of that beautiful body, hear every sound he could make.

Crowley scrubbed a hand over his forehead as he sighed. He slipped his elastic off his wrist and pulled his hair back. Crowley growled in Bee’s general direction. “It’s my day to pick the music so no queueing any of your poppy shit.”

“Kesha is art,” Bee said, deadpan, eyes glittering with ill-disguised laughter at Crowley’s expense. What a prick.

“No,” Crowley said firmly before stomping off into the office to turn on the sound system. It was going to be a long fucking day.

* * *

Anathema set a cup of tea down next to Aziraphale where he had collapsed in one of the chairs in her office and gave him an awkward pat on the arm.

Anathema had been hired a year ago to bridge the classics and religion department. She specialized in ancient mythology and prophecy, and while Aziraphale loved her dearly, she was a bit...eccentric. Her eccentricities were clearly on display in her office where she stored her conspiracy theory periodicals and had put up print outs of all the prophecies she had studied that she had felt certain would come to pass. It was a bit ominous. So they normally met in Aziraphale’s office, but today had been rather an emergency wherein Aziraphale had thundered into her office in need of immediate emotional support.

“I feel like an absolute fool,” Aziraphale bemoaned, letting his forehead fall into his open hand and entirely ignoring the tea Anathema had made.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Anathema said. “I mean he’s definitely just as nervous.”

“What does he have to be nervous about?” Aziraphale asked miserably. “You’ve seen him.”

Anathema arched a delicate brow and scoffed. “That man is 50% bones and 50% anxiety.”

Aziraphale snorted and then caught himself. “Anathema! That’s awfully rude.”

Anathema opened her mouth to retort when the door creaked open. Newt peeked in and then made an embarrassed noise. “Sorry. Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

Anathema waved him inside. “Just Aziraphale feeling sorry for himself after bungling his date with his mechanic.”

“The fit one?” Newt asked, sidling inside and pressing a kiss to Anathema’s cheek. She leaned into him shortly and a smile crossed her face before she turned back to Aziraphale.

“Can’t have been _too_ bad,” Newt continued. “That bloke obviously wants to shag you. He hardly looked away from you all night on Friday.”

Anathema opened her hand emphatically in Newt’s direction as if to say _see!_

Aziraphale groaned. “I didn’t _bungle_ it. It was just...not as successful as I had hoped.”

Newt scrunched up his nose. “Didn’t shag then?”

Anathema turned to Newt with an open mouth, “Newt!”

Newt looked between the two of them, confused. “What?”

Aziraphale sighed and let his head tip back against the chair.

* * *

Crowley was getting nervous. He’d spent too long deciding if he should wear his hair up or down and had rushed into the cafe a few minutes late, relieved that Aziraphale hadn’t arrived yet.

His relief didn’t last long because five more minutes passed and Aziraphale didn’t arrive. And then five more. Crowley felt his heart begin to fester, that cabin fever feeling inside his own chest. This wasn’t good. _He’s not coming._

Crowley bit his lip and tried to think about positive things. Maybe he was running late like Crowley had been running late. He stared at his glass of water and then picked up his fork to fiddle with it. He tried to remind himself that Aziraphale had kissed him on Monday. Or at least his cheek. That he’d said things like _I’ve been looking forward to this all weekend_ ; and _this is lovely_.

But by the time it was a quarter to twelve even Crowley could admit he’d been stood up. Trying to not let his disappointment eat him alive - he’d go home, he’d do a puzzle, he had ingredients for a chocolate cake if he fancied making one - Crowley dug out his wallet, ready to leave a tip for the waitstaff’s troubles.

His phone rang and he almost ignored it in his foul mood. Ultimately, his curiosity won out and when he flipped open the screen he saw it was Aziraphale. His heart played some complicated leapfrog.

He’d barely answered the phone before he was greeted with a rushed, “I am so sorry, Crowley. There’s been - well, there’s been an incident.”

Crowley’s stomach dropped. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m - I’m quite alright. However, my books…”

Aziraphale’s voice broke and Crowley’s heart clenched in sympathy.

“One of my bookshelves collapsed and I was caught up in the damage. I just realized what time it was. I’m terribly sorry, but we should reschedule. I won’t be able to focus on anything until this is handled.”

“I could help you,” Crowley said before he could stop himself.

He heard a short gasp through the line. “I’ll just be sorting books. And then I’ll need to purchase a new bookshelf.

“I’d like to help, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, shocking himself by the earnestness in his tone.

Aziraphale exhaled shakily, the sound crackling over the receiver. “That would be - I would like that very much.”

“I’ll be at your place in fifteen,” Crowley said decisively, all of his previous disappointment forgotten now that he had a goal. He was going to Aziraphale’s house and he was going to help him.

Hanging up, Crowley dropped a fiver on the table for the trouble and left the cafe. If Aziraphale had gotten caught up at home he might not have eaten, so Crowley picked up several pastries from Stella’s before hopping in his car.

He only realized he was being ridiculous when he rang Aziraphale’s doorbell, pastry box in hand, and his nerves found their way back to the forefront of his mind. Aziraphale probably didn’t want him there. He was going to be in the way. It was stupid to -

The door opened and Crowley was gifted with Aziraphale’s smile. He was red about the face, hair a mess - he’d clearly been running his hands through it - but he was in his usual outfit, shirtsleeves and that golden and velvety waistcoat Crowley had only seen once. Crowley immediately noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, black socks peeking out under the hems of his khaki trousers. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from those socks. He could see the delicate bones of Aziraphale’s toes. The odd vulnerability of it sent butterflies off in Crowley’s stomach.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, goodness. I was in quite a state when I called you. You absolutely don’t have to stay. I shouldn’t have -”

Crowley thrust the box of pastries into Aziraphale’s arms and pushed past him into the house. “I’m helping, Aziraphale.”

Distracted by the white box, Aziraphale moved out of the way as Crowley began to unlace his boots. He’d worn one of his nicer shirts because he was trying to make a good impression, but it wasn’t exactly suited to manual labor, pulling taut over his shoulders as he bent down.

“What’s this?” Aziraphale asked, holding the box aloft.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d have eaten. I picked up a few pastries,” Crowley admitted, staring at his fingers as he tugged open his laces. Best not look at Aziraphale right then. He was being embarrassing.

Aziraphale made a pleased noise. “From Stella’s? They have delightful blueberry danishes.”

Relieved that Aziraphale didn’t think he was a freak - and also that he’d picked up a blueberry danish - Crowley set his boots by the wall and stood up straight. “Well, there’s a blueberry, cherry, and apple in there. Take your pick.”

Aziraphale cooed as he walked down the hall towards the kitchen, setting the box down on the dining table and looking at it a bit regretfully. “I should really finish with the books. It’s a mess.”

Crowley nodded, watching as Aziraphale led him into the study he had spied that first day. One of the tall bookshelves was split in half, and there were books scattered across the floor. Three neat piles had been started on the carpet. They were nothing in comparison to the small mountain of books at the foot of the broken bookcase.

Crowley had only had a glimpse inside when he had walked through Aziraphale’s house the first time. All he’d seen then were books, but now he saw everything. A lace doily on an end table that held an honest-to-goodness corded phone. A gold standing lamp with a shade that had seen better days hanging over a cream armchair that looked well-used. But mostly, Crowley saw even more books.

“I’m just so worried,” Aziraphale begins, moving to the pile of books. “Some are probably damaged and I want to get them out before it gets worse.”

Aziraphale dropped into a crouch, trousers growing tight about his thighs as the fabric hugged the curve of his arse. Crowley’s tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. That arse would fill his hands so nicely. Would Aziraphale like if Crowley licked into him? Would he mewl and squirm?

Aziraphale turned and looked at him, shaking Crowley from his lurid daydream. “I’m not really sorting with any purpose so if you want to just start stacking we should get this done in a jiffy.”

“A jiffy,” Crowley repeated with a snort. Aziraphale pursed his lips, but his eyes were fond in a way that made Crowley’s heart skip against his ribs. Crowley dropped to his knees beside the pile and began steadily removed books, smoothing covers before placing them behind him in stacks like Aziraphale said. He tried his best to focus on the work - to really help - but Aziraphale was distracting. He’d sat back on his heels and had just begun to unbutton his sleeves, taking the cuff between his fingers and folding back once: a wrist. Another fold: golden skin and a dusting of dark blonde hair. A final fold and tuck: the flex of muscle as he began to fold back the other cuff.

Crowley stared at the book in his hand. _Gulliver’s Travels._ He’d never read that one. It was fine. Crowley would look at the books and _not_ stare at Aziraphale while the man tried to salvage his books.

“It’s awfully warm,” Aziraphale said and Crowley made the mistake of looking up. One of those hands - pretty manicured nails, knuckles softly dusted with hair - reached up and tugged at his bow tie, the ends unfurling down his shoulders and kissing the velvety fabric of his waistcoat. Crowley maybe made a noise. He had no idea.

“It’s days like this where I wish I had aircon,” Aziraphale observed, two fingers pinching one end of his bow tie and slipping it out from under his collar. “I’m afraid I didn’t dress for this sort of heat wave. Would you mind if I -” Aziraphale broke off, gesturing at his waistcoat.

“Nah,” Crowley said, heart pounding. “It’s your house.”

Aziraphale chuckled and then there were buttons slipping through holes and a golden waistcoat being shrugged off beautiful shoulders, revealing the rounded swell of Aziraphale’s body. His shirt was tucked into his trousers and he was wearing _braces_. Crowley had never appreciated braces before, thinking them hopelessly old fashioned. But he was fairly certain he would fall to his knees and thank God for their creation because they made Aziraphale look like _that_. The black cut of them followed the curve of his belly, slipped up over his shoulders, making him look broad and soft and _strong_.

Crowley strongly considered tackling him to the ground and ripping them off.

“I must apologize for my state of dishabille,” Aziraphale said absentmindedly, dropping back down next to Crowley which was too close because Crowley could probably lean over and tuck his chin over his shoulder. He’d probably smell like sandalwood and spice. Or maybe like parchment.

“It feels quite improper if I’m being honest,” Aziraphale confessed with a self-deprecating laugh.

“It can be our little secret then,” Crowley replied, very, _very_ proud of himself for saying something so nonchalant. He was a normal person who did not want to remove braces with his teeth.

 _Books_ , he told himself firmly. _Books._

With the two of them it didn’t take long to unearth all the books. They only found about ten with any real damage, mostly bent covers and folded pages that Aziraphale looked at despondently.

Once everything had been sorted, the broken bookshelf sat sadly in the middle of the room, tilted to one side and cracked in half like the leaning tower of Pisa if it finally succumbed to gravity.

“What’s next then? We should probably get you another shelf.” Crowley looked around the room, contemplating storage options. He didn’t have as many things as Aziraphale but what he had, he kept neat. “Or a few shelves.”

Aziraphale rose to his feet, trousers shifting fetchingly about his thighs as he stood. “You’re right. Let’s get this one out of here. It’s rubbish now.”

Crowley stood to help Aziraphale with the broken halves of the shelves and then froze when he just picked it up. Like it was easy. Half of a three meter shelf just...picked up. Crowley’s stomach swooped. Holy shit.

“Do you need help with that?” Crowley choked out, unable to tear his eyes away as Aziraphale navigated through the living room and to the front door. Carrying the bookshelf had made his shirt pull tight about his upper arms, the white fabric revealing the graceful curve of them. Crowley could see the flex of his shoulder blades underneath the cotton button down, emphasized by the black lines of his braces. Crowley felt the sudden urge to lay down.

“No, I believe I’m alright. I’ll just take this to the curb, shall I?” Aziraphale said, not even sounding strained before disappearing into the hall.

Crowley stared after him and then shook himself. With a bit of effort, he hefted the bottom portion of the bookcase to the archway leading to the hallway, running into Aziraphale who took it from him with no issue.

When Aziraphale returned, there was a little sheen of sweat on his forehead and Crowley felt near vibrating out of his body with want. What would Aziraphale do if Crowley pushed him against the wall and kissed him with as much desperation as he felt? Crowley could wrap his hands in those gorgeous braces and yank him tight against his body, feel the give and take of him.

“Coffee or tea for the pastries?” Aziraphale asked, pretty as a peach as he bustled past Crowley.

“Coffee,” Crowley answered, frozen to the spot as Aziraphale began rummaging through cupboards and pulling out little flower-patterned plates. Bluebells. “If you have it.”

They had coffee and split the pastries in half, leaving the apple for later.

“It’ll be a treat,” Aziraphale had said, squirreling it away into a container after splitting the cherry and the blueberry on two plates.

“So Stella’s meets muster?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale patted his mouth with a serviette. The man had fucking serviettes in his house. Of course he did. “It’s not my favorite bakery in town but it does quite well.”

Crowley wrapped his hands around his mug and felt a surge of happiness. This was nice. The long and short of it was that this was nice. “What’s your favorite then? So I can treat you next time.”

Next time.

Aziraphale gazed at his empty plate for a long moment. “Well, perhaps next time I can take you there?”

Crowley smiled at him, unable to control it because there it was. They both wanted to see each other again. “Didn’t answer the question, angel,” he teased and then grimaced when he realized the endearment had slipped out.

The grimace didn’t last very long because Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up to meet his and he was absolutely glowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: says that i'll probably update weekly  
> also me: gets swallowed whole by this AU and cranks out a second chapter  
> i promise weekly updates. this is just a treat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator

Crowley had called him _angel_ again. Just having Crowley in his house had alleviated some of the stress of having his bookshelf collapse. Crowley was focused and measured. He had walked into Aziraphale’s study and gotten to work. He’d picked up each of Aziraphale’s books like they were something precious, set them all aside with care. Aziraphale had noticed the way he traced some of the covers, fingers smoothing over their embossed titles.

But he’d also brought him pastries and called him _angel_.

Crowley was many things. Attractive, sarcastic, talented. But Aziraphale was steadily realizing that above all that, he was kind.

Collecting the plates, Aziraphale stood and moved to the sink. It was only one o’clock and he really should use the day to fix the disaster that was his study. He hadn’t exactly planned to buy a new bookshelf, but it was probably better than leaving a good number of his books in precarious piles on the floor where they would most likely languish for weeks before he worked up the nerve to take care of them.

“I do appreciate your help,” Aziraphale said, washing the crumbs from the plates. It was about a forty minute drive to the nearest Ikea. He could get a bookshelf, come back, order some takeaway and assemble the thing. If he wasn’t too exhausted after all that, he might even manage reshelving his books. “But I suppose I should get a wiggle on if I want to replace the shelf today.”

“I’m not gonna leave you to assemble a shelf like that by yourself,” Crowley said decisively, appearing beside him and leaning against the worktop, arms crossed over his slim chest. The movement pulled the sleeves of his gray shirt taut of his biceps and Aziraphale found himself distracted from the dishes. “Especially if you get another that size.”

Aziraphale nearly dropped the plate. “You don’t - really, I’ve lived alone for a very long time and I assembled all those other bookshelves by myself.”

“Yeah, but you don’t _have_ to now. I’m offering.”

Something clutched in Aziraphale’s chest, sharp and hopeful. “Well, I’m - I’m”- Aziraphale couldn’t find the right words. “I’ll be going to Ikea. You can hardly want to spend an afternoon there.”

Crowley cocked his head like an intrigued bird and then did that thing where he shrugged his mouth, nose scrunching adorably. “Never been to Ikea. Sounds like a lark.”

A laugh burst from Aziraphale. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Let me drive you. My car’s bigger.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him fully. Even with his sunglasses, Crowley looked desperately earnest, mouth relaxed, eyebrows raised. _Let me help_.

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat as he nodded. Crowley had worn his hair half up today but working through all the books had made wisps escape around his ears. They curled down over his cheeks and as Aziraphale traced the line of them with his eyes, he noticed a thin sheen of sweat at Crowley’s temples. He realized for the first time that Crowley was wearing long sleeves despite the heat. He frowned. Crowley always seemed to wear long sleeves.

“Alright then,” Crowley said with a decisive nod, already walking to the entryway to shove his feet into his boots. When Aziraphale remained in the kitchen, Crowley looked up and frowned. “We going or not?”

“Right, yes,” Aziraphale said, shaking himself. “Apologies. I was...distracted.”

Crowley arched one expressive brow and then shook his head fondly. “You keep acting like this and I _will_ start to think of you as an absent minded professor.”

Aziraphale went to the closet and retrieved his Oxfords, taking a seat at the dining table to tie them. “I suppose at this point that would be entirely fair.”

* * *

Crowley drove far too fast. Aziraphale felt his heart racing nearly at the same speed as the car beneath him. He found it a bit difficult to carry conversation when he was periodically fearing for his life.

Crowley kept shooting him amused glances. “You alright, Aziraphale?”

“Fine, yes, thank you,” Aziraphale said primly even as he clutched at the door handle.

“We’ve got thirty minutes left. I’m not an expert but if you hold your breath for that long, you’ll probably die.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Just watch the road.”

Crowley snorted but fell silent.

Despite the terror of the whole thing, they pulled into the Ikea car park safe and sound. Aziraphale stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, immediately wrinkling his nose. They were close to London now and the smell of the city was everywhere.

Crowley drew up beside him, hands stuffed in pockets that looked too small as he peered around the entrance silently.

“So you’ve really never been here?” Aziraphale asked, snagging a map and a cart as they maneuvered into the store. Ikea was quite the trap, but Aziraphale was there for one reason, and he wasn’t about to be sucked into buying something unnecessary.

Crowley grunted in the negative.

“Well, this might be a bit of an experience,” Aziraphale said and led Crowley into the showroom.

* * *

Ikea might be hell. It certainly would be hell if Aziraphale wasn’t next to him, navigating through the strangely laid out place with aplomb. Apparently, Aziraphale had no qualms about pushing through crowds, leaving Crowley behind to issue little apologetic waves in his wake as people glared at them.

It was sort of endearing to watch Aziraphale work his way through the shop like a bull with a purpose. “See, they force you to walk through all of this so you’re convinced to buy something you don’t need. But I am here for _bookshelves_. That is it.”

Crowley tripped after him, a bit caught up in the sway of his arse as he pushed the cart. He’d put back on his waistcoat - a shame - but it hugged his body quite nicely. How Aziraphale hadn’t caught Crowley staring yet, he had no idea. It didn’t matter though. Because that meant Crowley could stare more.

“I wish they would make it easier to just pop in and get what you need,” Aziraphale groused, pushing them to another floor. “We have to go through a whole separate floor before we even get to the warehouse.”

“Doesn’t seem worth it,” Crowley commented, trying not to stare at a couple arguing by a teal accent chair in a little nook that looked like a fake living room.

“Yes, well. It is budget-friendly,” Aziraphale said, still sounding quite put out. “And the rest of my bookshelves are from Ikea so it seemed like the best option.”

“You didn’t strike me as the type to care about fashion over function,” Crowley observed. Ikea was beginning to feel a bit like a zoo, Crowley watching as all sorts of strange human interactions occurred around him. He was so distracted that he hadn’t noticed Aziraphale freeze in front of him and he bumped directly into his back, broad and warm. The contact was brief and yet Crowley felt every inch. He wanted to wrap his arms around Aziraphale and hold him close, feel that warmth a little longer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aziraphale asked, voice tight, and Crowley abruptly realized what he’d said might not be the most polite thing in the world.

“Ah, just” - Crowley wasn’t very good at words, putting them together right - “You never struck me as particularly shallow. Not that wanting matching bookcases is shallow or - anything like that,” Crowley finished lamely.

Aziraphale’s suspicious glance turned into something pleased as the rest of the shoppers pressed on around them. Crowley liked the way his mouth tipped at the edges, just enough to be a smile. It didn’t feel like the right moment for a first kiss, surrounded by irritated Londoners, but Crowley almost gave in to the urge.

He wanted to kiss Aziraphale when they were alone so if it turned into some sort of unmitigated disaster no one would be party to it but him.

Through sheer luck, they managed to get out of the damn warehouse in under two hours, strong arming a bookshelf called BILLY. Crowley had convinced Aziraphale that something long and low would be better than tall. Just to prevent another collapse. Aziraphale had hemmed and hawed and Crowley pointed out that he had all that space beneath his front window and it would fit perfectly.

So they got BILLY.

Seemed stupid to name furniture but Crowley wasn’t about to judge.

* * *

Aziraphale slipped out of his car when they finally pulled up in front of his house. He passed a hand over his middle and Crowley watched as he bit his lip, clearly thinking.

“I suppose we should take this inside,” Aziraphale said, opening up the boot and looking at the box in consternation. A little wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, cute in its huffiness. Crowley liked the way his nose twitched when he was frustrated. The tip of it was slightly upturned and Crowley thought he could try to capture his profile on paper for the rest of eternity and never get it right.

Aziraphale slid the box out of the car and set it by the curb, making Crowley’s knees go a bit weak. “Let me just prop open the door and then we can take this in together, hm?”

Crowley nodded, turning his head to track Aziraphale with his eyes. He paused on the stoop and turned back to Crowley to give him a small smile before pushing open the door.

Together, they hauled the box inside - Crowley managed to hold up his end of the box even though watching Aziraphale lift it without trouble made him feel funny in the stomach region - and set it down flat on the carpet of the study.

“Probably should move the books so we have some space,” Crowley said as he returned to the entryway to remove his boots.

“You’re probably right,” Aziraphale huffed, already bending over to pick up one of the piles and giving Crowley an unfair view of his arse.

The weather was truly unseasonably warm, but Crowley thought he might never cool down at this rate even if winter came early. Aziraphale was so gorgeous, huffing around his living room and moving the piles of books they had neatly stacked earlier that day. He moved with a quiet efficiency that Crowley envied. He’d always been quick and dirty. Aziraphale was thorough.

It was intoxicating to watch.

Aziraphale was so focused he didn’t even notice that Crowley was standing in the archway to the study staring at him instead of helping. When Aziraphale finally stood and brushed his hands over his waistcoat, Crowley stuttered back to life.

“So you’ve built one of these before, yeah?”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Yes, but it never gets any easier.”

* * *

Inviting Crowley to Ikea had been a mistake. It had been domestic. When Aziraphale stopped paying attention, his mind had drifted to things like _what would it be like to shop for something together? Something for us?_ He’d started picturing Crowley in his home, giving input on replacement bookshelves and a new sofa.

But that was far from where they currently were. They hadn’t even kissed. Aziraphale didn’t even know if Crowley _wanted_ to kiss him.

They paused before beginning work to order takeaway curry by phone, Crowley disappearing to pick it up and giving Aziraphale a few moments to gather himself. He felt as if he’d just gone through a visceral powerpoint presentation of all the things he dreamed of having but had yet to achieve. A nice boyfriend to help him around the house, to take him shopping when he needed, to laugh with him over pastries and make him feel better when stressful things happened. It was everything Aziraphale wanted. It was the movie he played in his mind on lonely Saturday nights.

It didn’t help that Crowley was so disarmingly handsome. The more Aziraphale looked - and oh how he looked - the more imperfections he noticed in his handsome face. The spray of freckles on his crooked nose, the way his bottom lip sometimes caught on the half turn of one of his incisors. Aziraphale wanted to see him without his glasses, understand the symmetry of his eyes, catalog the color of them.

The worst bit of it all was that Aziraphale knew he was nothing special. There was no reason for Crowley to look at him the way Aziraphale looked at Crowley. He was round-faced and snub-nosed. He’d been edging into portly for quite some time and while he was fine with his body, he had long accepted that no one would be particularly excited to look at it.

After ripping open the box holding the bookshelf, Aziraphale collapsed in his reading chair and reminded himself that Crowley _wanted_ to be there. Aziraphale had given him many opportunities to leave. He could have declined another date.

Instead, Crowley had given him the gift of a lopsided smile and a voice threaded with hope when he said he would see him again soon.

Instead, Crowley had appeared on his porch with pastries and demanded to help.

It was more than Aziraphale could ever ask for.

* * *

It turned out Aziraphale ate curry with naan and he used his hands. After he used his hands, he would lick the tips of his fingers like he was personally out to slaughter Crowley with each appearance of pink tongue. He made those noises too. Crowley’s favorite ones. Tiny moans and hums.

He had no idea how Aziraphale didn’t get mobbed in public when he ate, why people weren’t falling at his feet to hear more of those delectable sounds.

Crowley was, in fact, hungry but sitting at Aziraphale’s kitchen table as the sun set and sharing bits of naan was making his heart race something awful so it was difficult to focus. Aziraphale reached out and swiped his spoon through Crowley’s paneer tikka masala, scooping up a cheese cube and slipping it into his mouth with a happy noise.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Aziraphale declared, licking the back of the spoon because he was clearly trying to kill Crowley.

“Yeah, that’s why I ordered it,” Crowley said, pushing a cube around in the sea of red sauce. “Not so professors could poach it from me.”

He stuffed a mouthful of curry and rice into his mouth and gave Aziraphale a saccharine smile.

Aziraphale let out a faux-affronted gasp. “Poach? If you’re absolutely insisting on fairness, you’re welcome to a bite of mine.”

Crowley humphed in triumph and scooped up a large spoonful of baingan bharta, slopping it onto his plate for his next bite. He mostly did it to needle Aziraphale. He didn’t even like eggplant that much.

“You horrid man,” Aziraphale sniffed. “No manners.”

Crowley, even though he shouldn’t have, scooped up another bite and stuffed it into his mouth. He wasn’t done with the last one, but he made a show of overchewing just to make Aziraphale laugh. Which he did. Beautiful bastard.

“Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, ‘ziraphale,” Crowley said around the food in his mouth which earned him a snort. Crowley swallowed and grinned.

They finished their food - Crowley managing to eat more once Aziraphale had finally scraped the bottom of his bowl - and Aziraphale calmly deposited their plates in the sink.

“Thank you again,” Aziraphale said, back to Crowley as he rinsed the plates. “Today would have been absolutely horrid without you.”

“Well, I’m glad I made it better.”

Crowley bit his lip to stop talking. That was awfully close to awkward flirtation. If he stopped talking then it would stay at that, light flirtation. Keep it light.

When Aziraphale washed dishes, he rolled up his sleeves. The sight of Aziraphale with rolled up sleeves was still enough to make Crowley’s stomach tip over with want. If he ever managed to touch them would that change? If he could grip that toned muscle with his hands would this hunger ebb?

He wondered if Aziraphale always washed dishes in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. When he came home from work did he change into something more comfortable? Crowley could just picture some sort of matching pajama set out of something like _A Christmas Carol_ , sleeping cap and all. Aziraphale seemed the dressing gown type. Except, in such an ensemble, he wouldn’t look ridiculous. He’d look inviting as a warm bed after a long day. He’d be slipping into a warm bath, the taste of a good cup of tea.

Crowley hoped one day he’d get to see Aziraphale’s pajamas. Maybe one day, help him out of them.

“I’m glad too,” Aziraphale said, leaning back against the worktop as he dried the plates with a tartan dish towel. The man really did seem to have an unironic preference for tartan. “Do you know this morning when I heard the crash all I could think was how disappointed I was that I wouldn’t be on time for our date? And then it only got worse.”

Crowley’s ears rang with the word date. Clear as a bell. Aziraphale had said it. Nothing nebulous and uncertain about that. It wasn’t _let’s spend time together or I’d like to get to know you better._ Date. Sure as anything.

“S’alright.”

“I’m sure you must have thought poorly of me, leaving you waiting.”

Crowley shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the feelings from the cafe when he’d been certain Aziraphale had finally decided to leave him in the lurch just like everyone else.

“I don’t think I could think poorly of you even if I tried.”

Aziraphale looked at him, surprise clear on his face. “You don’t really mean that.”

Crowley met as gaze as confidently as he knew how. “I do.”

* * *

If inviting Crowley to Ikea had been a mistake, then letting him help with the furniture had been a death sentence.

They moved from dinner seamlessly into beginning work on the bookshelf even as the sun steadily set outside. Aziraphale kept expecting Crowley to beg off, say he had somewhere to be. They had agreed to meet for lunch and to spend the afternoon at a gallery. Afternoon had long passed and yet Crowley was still there, glaring at the instructions as he pulled out board after board.

It was no secret Aziraphale appreciated Crowley’s appearance. The man was attractive. Of course, he’d been looking. But there was something about Crowley focused, the way his eyebrows drew together dramatically, the way he mouthed the words as he read them, that had Aziraphale’s stomach in delicious knots. It was…

Cute.

Thinking of someone like Crowley as cute had Aziraphale reeling. The man was six feet of wiry muscle and black fabric. People like that weren’t _cute_ and yet Crowley kept making little huffing noises as he picked up a piece, stared at it, and then put it down.

That was trial enough. And then they started building the thing in earnest. Aziraphale handed Crowley parts and they would work together to fit pieces into place, Aziraphale holding up the board while Crowley affixed the other with a screw. The way Crowley’s knuckles grew taut around a screwdriver was nearly pornographic. The push and pull of his muscles under his gray shirt reminiscent of _other_ activities that might cause him to move like that. Aziraphale was most certainly staring even though he _should’ve_ been pulling out the next pieces.

Cute and absolutely worth tackling to the ground for what would undoubtedly be an earth shattering shag.

Aziraphale didn’t have earth shattering shags. He had respectable, under the covers, slow kisses, whispered endearments sex because that’s what his partners had always wanted. What Aziraphale wanted was to be pressed up against his still standing bookcases and be fucked until he couldn’t walk. He wanted bruises and rug burn and risk. His relationships had so rarely had fire or anything resembling this hungry thing inside him when he looked at Crowley. He’d never asked any of his partners for those things that secretly thrilled him. But something about Crowley made Aziraphale think he would _love_ them.

* * *

Crowley had purchased most of his furniture wholesale or from secondhand shops. He had not had occasion to assemble flatpack furniture, but he was handy with a tool and knew how to follow instructions.

Or he would if they made any damn sense.

“Why don’t they label the sodding parts?” Crowley demanded, shaking the pamphlet in his hand. He looked up at Aziraphale in order to share in his misery and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the way he was looking at him. It was soft and pleased. Affectionate. Like Aziraphale wanted Crowley to curl up in his lap and go to sleep, some new housecat in need of affection.

Crowley would die to be in that lap.

Aziraphale blinked and snatched the pamphlet out of Crowley’s hands, breaking the moment. “I believe it’s part of the Ikea mystique,” he said as if that explained anything.

“Sounds like a load of shite.”

“That too,” Aziraphale said sagely before picking up another slab of particle board to affix to the sort of H shaped nonsense they already had.

“And you’re sure you’ve done this before?”

“Well, not this configuration but the same principles apply. We need this sort of L-shaped...let me try to find it.”

Aziraphale reached into the box again and then made an irritated noise before retracting his arm and tugging his sleeve from where it had stuck in the edge of the box. Crowley wasn’t breathing because Aziraphale was taking off his waistcoat and setting it aside. Crowley thought that was bad enough, the braces, the rolled up sleeves, but then…

 _Fuck_.

Aziraphale stood and slipped his braces over his shoulders so they fell down around his thighs, parabolas that kissed his knees. He pulled out his shirt tails and Crowley’s hand clenched around the screwdriver he was holding.

Aziraphale wasn’t even paying attention as he slipped off his shirt, carefully folding it in front of him and setting it aside before rooting around in the box to find the piece he was looking for. His undershirt was white with short sleeves. It was tight enough that Aziraphale’s chest pressed into it, a small roundness pushing the fabric out before it came back to hug his belly and then disappeared into the band of his trousers.

“A-ha!” Aziraphale cried pulling out some strange bracket thing that Crowley didn’t give two figs about. All thought had deserted him because Aziraphale was glancing between the metal bracket and Crowley’s face, beaming with pride and Crowley - well, fuck.

Their eyes locked across the short distance between them and Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open on a shuddering breath. “Crowley, I -”

After everything - the hand on his chest in the garage, the strength of those hands, that _smile_ \- Crowley’s couldn’t _not_ kiss him. His heart seized him and led him forward. A gasp as their lips touched. Aziraphale was fire warm and his mouth was soft as it looked, parting easily under Crowley’s kiss even as Crowley yanked himself back. His body was aching, nerves lit at every end like firecrackers as he looked at Aziraphale, terrified he had misstepped. Aziraphale’s eyelashes fluttered when he opened his eyes, lips parted. He didn’t look like he was breathing. He looked like Crowley felt. Shell-shocked.

They inhaled simultaneously - Crowley, to apologize, excuse the loss of control. Aziraphale, to - and then Aziraphale’s mouth was on his again, insistent and everything Crowley wanted.

Aziraphale didn’t kiss like a stuffy professor. He kissed like something out of the movies, like this was a final kiss before he’d ride off into battle, risking life and limb for love. He kissed with a surety that Crowley didn’t understand but that he wanted to swallow down inside of him even as it burned like a flame in his mouth.

Crowley was on his back before he could even think, Aziraphale tongue in his mouth and hands tugging on his shirt. Crowley was already hard against Aziraphale’s hip as Aziraphale pressed him down among the instruction pamphlets and spare parts, kissing him until Crowley had no idea where he was. It was just Aziraphale’s mouth and the steady rocking of his thigh between Crowley’s almost too much.

* * *

Crowley had _kissed_ him. It had been better than Aziraphale had imagined, warm and soft and needy. Crowley had made a noise in his throat, shock and delight mingled together like Aziraphale had kissed _him_ and not the other way around. So when Crowley pulled away, Aziraphale needed more. He needed to feel Crowley’s body against his, worship the cage of his chest with his hands, chase every shadow he could find until there was nothing but light.

He pushed Crowley back against the beige carpet, knocking aside a hex key and plastic bag so he could kiss him deeper. The slide of Crowley’s tongue against his had his hips jerking forward. Slotting their legs together, Aziraphale rocked into him, feeling a firm pressure under the zip of Crowley’s jeans that thrilled him. Crowley was hard. For him.

He moaned into the kiss, mouth going slack enough that Crowley took it as an excuse to pull away, warm wide palms tugging his undershirt from the back of his trousers and skating over the sensitive skin of his back.

“Fuck,” Crowley said, bending his knees so Aziraphale was in his lap, one knee between Aziraphale’s legs and pressing against his arse.

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath. Crowley smelled of apples and heat and it was too much for his poor synapses, breaking something inside him so that all that was left was his body crying out for more. As Crowley squeezed his hips, Aziraphale kissed his neck, biting at the sliver of exposed collarbone and sucking a bruise into his pale skin. Crowley hissed and arched against him.

Aziraphale tried to kiss him again, but his nose knocked into his sunglasses, the corner of them digging into his cheek and making him yelp. He pulled back and rubbed at the side of his face.

“May I remove these?” Aziraphale asked, one hand rubbing the sting from his cheek as he reached down to grasp the arm of Crowley’s sunglasses.

One moment, Crowley’s arms were around him, holding him in his lap and the next Aziraphale found himself on his arse as Crowley scrambled away, back slamming into Aziraphale’s reading chair.

Crowley’s chest was heaving, a bruise was steadily appearing on his collarbone and his cheeks were pink. He looked debauched.

He also looked horrified.

Aziraphale held up his hands, stomach dropping through the floor. “I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “I shouldn’t have -”

“I’ve got to,” Crowley said, too loud, launching to his feet and nearly tripping out of the study into the darkness of the hall. Aziraphale heard the slam of the front door and he felt sick.

Aziraphale stared into the fading blackness and tried to decide if he should go after him, ignoring the guilt scratching at his heart.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and loudalligator. i love you.
> 
> cw: flashbacks to abusive relationship, minor past violence (including blood), panic attack

Aziraphale was on his feet before he let his doubts stop him. Without even putting on his shoes, he rushed to the front door and ripped it open, ready to chase Crowley down and apologize for misstepping. But when he crashed onto his stoop, he found Crowley seated on the edge of the step, head tipped into his hands.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said suddenly, voice muffled as he spoke into his palms.

It was dark outside, the porchlight illuminating a swath of Aziraphale’s lawn and turning Crowley’s hair blood red. The night was warmer than it should have been for seven in the evening so Aziraphale was thankful for his short sleeves even though they made him feel rather exposed for the conversation at hand.

"May I sit?" Aziraphale asked. Part of him wanted to turn around and go back inside, curl up with a book and pretend this hadn’t happened.

But he couldn't do that. Not if he wanted to keep Crowley in his life.

Crowley nodded, not looking up.

Aziraphale carefully dropped down beside him, leaving a good six inches between them. It was entirely likely Crowley had responded the way he had because Aziraphale had been touching him. Aziraphale’s stomach turned at the thought.

"I think I owe you an apology actually," Aziraphale said, echoing Crowley’s sentiment. He felt miserable, all of his insides in knots. Was it the glasses or was it Aziraphale? Crowley had never removed them before. Aziraphale had vaguely thought it was something about the light or perhaps an affectation but what if...what if Crowley was hiding something? What if Crowley was ashamed of how he looked without them?

"What do you have to apologize for?" Crowley snapped and then he sucked in a hissing breath, leaning back so that his hands dropped to the edge of the step, knuckles flexing where he gripped the stone. “I’m the one who lost it back there.”

Aziraphale looked at him for a long moment, considering. He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t want Crowley to run off again. All he wanted was to comfort, but he didn’t know where to start. Would Crowley even let him?

But he waited too long to do anything other than let his insecurities tumble out. “I’m sorry I kissed you,” he said and when Crowley didn’t reply, he went on, adding to the list of all the reasons why this was _his_ fault, “I’m sure you’d rather I kept to myself. It was awfully forward -”

Crowley interrupted him with a long frustrated groan and curled forward again, rocking a bit in his seat as if to soothe himself. Aziraphale had to fist his hand on his thigh to stop himself from reaching out to rub a hand over his back.

“That’s not -” Crowley turned towards him, face contorted in frustration. “It’s not about that.”

Aziraphale felt light with relief for the barest moment before the reality of the situation crashed back around him.

"My glasses…" Crowley began and his voice wavered. Aziraphale’s heart twisted to hear that voice so uncertain. Crowley was usually so cavalier, sarcastic, biting.

"You don’t have to tell me,” Aziraphale rushed to say. He didn’t want Crowley to feel like he had to explain He didn’t owe Aziraphale anything, let alone an explanation. He hoped Crowley didn’t feel that way. That was hardly the foundation for the sort of relationship Aziraphale wanted with him.

"No, I - I...I’ll take them off. But if I do, can you promise you won’t ask questions?" Crowley said tightly as he stared up into the sky, neck tipped back at an awkward angle.

Aziraphale historically wasn't very good at keeping his thoughts to himself, but for this - for Crowley - he’d do his best.

"Alright," Aziraphale said finally. Barely a whisper. "I promise."

Crowley sat up, one hand going to the arm of his sunglasses. He pulled them off, eyes closed as they slipped from his face. Then he turned to Aziraphale, eyes still squeezed shut. When they fluttered open, Aziraphale’s heart stopped.

They were the most gorgeous shade of brown Aziraphale had ever seen. Perhaps he was biased because Crowley was one of the most gorgeous things he’d ever seen, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen that shade of honeyed brown before.

A beat passed and that was it. Whatever Crowley thought he was revealing, Aziraphale couldn’t see it. Then Crowley looked down nervously, face tipping forward slightly and the light caught on a shine beneath his left eye. Pinkish white. A scar.

It wasn’t particularly large but with a sinking heart, Aziraphale realized it’s shape was distinctive. A fingernail. An angry crescent moon dug into the thin skin under Crowley’s eye. Aziraphale bit his lip so he wouldn’t speak, all the questions inside him clamoring to escape. A fingernail carved into Crowley’s face, old enough for the scar to mostly fade, but apparently not enough for Crowley to be comfortable showing the world. He wondered what sort of questions Crowley had gotten to make him so terrified, to make him feel as if he had to hide.

Unable to hold back any longer, Aziraphale reached for Crowley's hand, relieved when he let him hold on to it tightly.

"Thank you," was all he said because Crowley had asked and trusted him with this. And he _was_ thankful to be able to see Crowley’s eyes. Without his glasses, Aziraphale could see the beginning of crow’s feet forming at the corners. He could see the way his eyebrows complemented the shape of his eyes, the surprising twist of his nose, more crooked than even Aziraphale could have fathomed when the full shape of it was obscured.

"That's it?" Crowley asked, nose wrinkling in consternation. “Thank you?”

"Well, you did say no questions so…" Aziraphale said meaningfully, heart thundering as he spoke. He needed to say something to lighten the moment so he was teasing. Of course. Crowley seemed to like to be teased. He was also teasing because it was better than lingering on the questions he did have: _Why do you have a scar shaped like a thumbnail? Why do you hide it? Whose hands have done this?_

Crowley's nostrils flared but then his whole face transformed with contained laughter. He smiled and it made Aziraphale’s heart race. He was so beautiful in this light. In all lights, really. "You are something else. I just practically had a panic attack on your stoop and you're mocking me?"

"Perhaps it is uncouth," Aziraphale said with a prim purse of his lips, still playfully teasing. "But I would like to point out that you are, in fact, laughing now."

Crowley looked down at their joined hands and the laughter faded. With his glasses, Crowley was miraculously expressive, fascinatingly so. Without them, Aziraphale could see every feeling as it flitted across his face. Joy, disbelief, unease.

"Yeah, I suppose I am," Crowley said, half to himself. Aziraphale squeezed his hand.

"Would you like to come back in? I believe we've only managed about half of BILLY and I'm afraid to leave him in such a state."

Crowley snorted but he seemed unable to stop smiling. "’Fraid he’ll riot? Start a bookshelf uprising?"

Aziraphale leaned across the space between them and knocked their shoulders together. "More that, if I don’t finish this tonight, I'll have a half-built bookshelf on my floor for weeks."

"Alright then," Crowley said with a dramatically long-suffering sigh as he heaved himself to his feet. "Best get to it."

Aziraphale stood as well and hesitated after he shut the door. "You don’t -"

Crowley turned back and cocked an eyebrow in question. Without his glasses, the expression was beautiful in its complexity, the rise of an eyebrow, the openness of his eyes, the half quirk of his mouth.

"You don’t have to keep your glasses off if it makes you uncomfortable," Aziraphale forced himself to say even though he was already mourning the loss of those gorgeous eyes.

Crowley paused, the glasses twirling through the fingers of his left hand. His dusky lashes shadowed his cheeks as he looked down. “I think -”

Aziraphale held his breath.

“I think I’m alright.”

* * *

Crowley excused himself to the restroom to get himself together. He stared into the white basin of the sink and took several deep breaths before filling one of his palms with water so he could splash onto his cheeks.

Should he look? He saw the blasted scar every day and it wasn’t about to look different, but in his mind it was an angry red. Fresh.

He met his own eyes in the mirror and let out a long breath. It was just as faded as it had been that morning. It was also the same crescent shape that had people asking what sort of fight he’d lost. If only they knew.

Sometimes it’s not a fight; sometimes it’s giving up while a thumbnail presses into your eyesocket until someone stronger than you pulls you away.

_Do you want to go to hospital?_ Bee had asked, pulled into the petrol station five miles from Luc’s apartment as Crowley clutched fast food napkins to his bleeding cheek. _Your call._

Crowley had said no.

Maybe if he’d said yes, he wouldn’t have a scar.

Crowley shut off the taps and sighed. Aziraphale had kept his word. No questions. It wasn’t as if Crowley would have been able to keep his glasses on around him forever. But telling himself that didn’t make it any easier.

Aziraphale was too sodding good for this world. He hadn’t asked questions; he’d just nodded and held Crowley’s hand. Then he’d made fun of him, more of that good-natured ribbing that Crowley was coming to expect and appreciate more than anything.

Crowley didn’t deserve someone like that, broken as he was. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

* * *

Building the rest of the bookshelf was a bit awkward at first, bumping hands and mumbled apologies. Then Crowley had his finger smashed in between two shelves and swore creatively enough that Aziraphale couldn’t help but giggle. That sent Crowley into laughter as well and whatever tension had grown between them broke easily.

Seeing Crowley laugh and grow relaxed again was a delight. Aziraphale was entirely besotted with the way his eyes scrunched at the corners when he laughed, the wrinkles there complementing the dimples in his cheeks.

It was a revelation to see him focus without his glasses on, the slight scrunch of his eyes, the wrinkle of his nose as he put together another piece. Aziraphale was so mesmerized that he had to forcefully remind himself to be helpful. He didn’t want Crowley doing all the work for him even if he did seem more than willing.

When it was finally done, Crowley helped him lift the shelf onto its feet and drag it underneath the front windows.

“See,” Crowlet said, clearly pleased with himself. “I told you that it would fit there.”

Aziraphale dusted his hands on his trousers. “Yes, yes, you were right.”

Crowley gave him a shit-eating grin which only had Aziraphale playfully swatting at his belly and rolling his eyes. Crowley snatched his wrist before he could make contact and Aziraphale stumbled forward, abruptly realizing how close they were when Crowley’s gaze dropped to his mouth.

Crowley licked his lips. “I’m gonna -”

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped just before Crowley leaned in and captured his mouth in the kiss he’d been aching for since Crowley had taken off his glasses.

* * *

Crowley’s glasses were off so there was nothing stopping him from kissing Aziraphale, pushing him back against the low bookcase and slipping his tongue into his mouth. Aziraphale’s hands fisted in his shirt and he whimpered, mouth relaxing under Crowley’s so he could deepen the kiss. Aziraphale groaned and yanked Crowley against him. Fuck, he kissed so sweetly. Crowley was already aching for him.

When Crowley pressed his knee between Aziraphale’s thighs, soft hands sank into his hair. Their kisses grew messy until Crowley pulled back and mouthed over the soft corner of Aziraphale’s jaw, the one he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. Aziraphale gasped, hands growing tighter in Crowley’s hair as Crowley began to kiss over his neck.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped and hearing his name in that voice made Crowley’s cock twitch in his trousers. He nipped at Aziraphale’s ear, bringing one hand up to Aziraphale’s sternum, running it over the soft swell of his chest. He wanted to tear Aziraphale’s shirt over his head, see the shell pink nipples currently hardening under his palm. Would he have hair running down his chest? What would it feel like under his hands, his mouth?

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, more insistent and Crowley retreated on instinct. Even though he hadn’t wanted to stop, he was unbearably glad he had because now he was able to see the pink flush of Aziraphale’s cheeks, the way his eyes had turned dark with lust. His chest was heaving and Crowley _wanted_.

“Do you -” Aziraphale broke off and Crowley could barely hear him because all he could think about was how much he wanted to touch him again. “Are you sure this is alright?”

“So incredibly more than alright,” Crowley said even as his stomach did something strange, a flip, a turn. Beautiful and overwhelming.

That seemed to be the green light Aziraphale needed because he was being pulled back against that plush body and kissed hungrily. He could feel Aziraphale’s belly press into his own, its firm give so so perfect. He wanted to touch Aziraphale everywhere at once but first...

He reached between them and tugged Aziraphale’s undershirt out of his waistband, pushing under the white fabric so he could palm over his stomach. He grinned into Aziraphale’s mouth when he discovered the coarse hair on his belly, the striped texture of stretch marks. Fuck, Crowley wanted to see them.

Slipping his hand down, he thumbed open Aziraphale’s trousers, caressing the underside of his belly with his knuckles and liking the way it jumped under his touch. Sensitive.

They were pressed so tightly together but Crowley needed more. “Fuck, can I touch you? Please let me touch you.”

Aziraphale reached between them and fumbled open Crowley’s jeans eagerly, so clearly it was more than ok.

The touch of Aziraphale’s hand on him, even through the fabric of his boxer briefs, was enough for Crowley’s to hiss as his hips jerked into the contact. It had been a long time since he’d had the company of anyone but himself - shagging strangers wasn’t usually worth the trouble - and Aziraphale’s touch was electric. Better than anything.

Crowley slipped his hand inside Aziraphale’s boxers and moaned when he finally wrapped his fingers around his cock. It was barely more than a handful but thick and velvety in Crowley’s palm. If - when - Crowley was finally on his knees for Aziraphale, it would stretch his mouth wide just the way Crowley liked it. Crowley would be able to take him all the way down, make him groan as his cock nudged the back of Crowley’s throat.

Aziraphale caught his mouth again, biting at his lower lip as Crowley began to stroke him, gathering the bead of wetness in his slit with his thumb and spreading it over the head. It wasn’t enough so Crowley withdrew his hand, earning a distressed whimper from Aziraphale. Breaking the kiss, Crowley brought his hand up to his mouth and licked over his palm before spitting into the center, enough to slick it. When Crowley wrapped his hand back around his shaft, Aziraphale moaned.

“Oh, fuck,” Aziraphale said, eyes fluttering shut as Crowley worked over him. Crowley wanted him to say more things like that, wanted to hear all sorts of words come out of that mouth.

“Is that good?” he murmured into Aziraphale’s ear, looking between them to watch the movement of his hand over Aziraphale’s cock. He should have taken off his pants so he could watch him come. As it was, he could just see the tip of his prick when Crowley moved his hand just right. It would have to be enough because he wasn’t going to stop now. He didn’t think he’d be able to pull away long enough to manage it.

“Yes, perfect. You’re perfect,” Aziraphale said, barely coherent. The words made Crowley’s cock grow even harder in his trousers. Just the soft press of Aziraphale’s body, his heat, had him ready to come like a teenager making out on the sofa for the first time. No good, that. He needed to get Aziraphale off first. He wanted to feel him come because of Crowley. Make it good.

“Kiss me,” Aziraphale demanded, gasping for breath. “Kiss me.”

So Crowley did. He moaned as Aziraphale sucked on his tongue, the sensation going straight to his cock. Aziraphale’s hands fisted in the back of his shirt as he groaned low in his throat, coming in hot pulses over Crowley’s hand.

Crowley began to withdraw but Aziraphale didn’t even miss a beat. He grasped at Crowley’s filthy hand to bring it with his into Crowley’s pants, wrapping both their hands around Crowley’s aching prick, his own spend slicking the way.

Fuck. Crowley wasn’t going to last. Not with both their hands, not with the knowledge that he was practically covered in Aziraphale, not with Aziraphale’s soft chest heaving against his. The pleasure inside him began to crescendo as his muscles locked and he came over both their hands.

Aziraphale kissed him through it, long messy kisses that drew out every string of pleasure in Crowley’s body until he was utterly spent. Aziraphale was wonderful. They’d fit so well together. Maybe they could do it again and it would be even better.

When they finally pulled apart, lips slick and bodies wrung out, Aziraphale cleared his throat and said, “I should probably...I should get us a towel.”

Crowley stepped back, letting Aziraphale out of the cage of his arms without a word. He was already too far away but Crowley had to let him go. He probably wanted to get away.

Doubt slithered through him. Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. Maybe it was too fast. Kissing on the floor of the study to messy hand jobs against a bookcase was far too fast for someone like Aziraphale. He should have waited, should have taken him to bed -

Aziraphale brushed a quick kiss over his mouth, making Crowley’s insides spark. “I’ll be right back.”

Crowley stared dumbly after him, spunk drying in his pants as he tried to understand what just happened.

* * *

Hand jobs against his bookcase. That was new. Aziraphale’s hands shook under the taps as he washed away the mess. After what had happened on the stoop, he had resigned himself to a potentially awkward evening and probably a guilty wank after Crowley left while he thought about the way it had felt to be between his legs.

Well, he supposed this was better. Who was he kidding? It was miles better. Light years.

Crowley’s calloused hands on him, the press of his hot mouth on his neck. Aziraphale might replay the sounds he made for the rest of his life.

Returning to the entryway with a damp towel and a spare undershirt, Aziraphale found Crowley sitting at the dining room table with a far off look on his face.

“Here,” Aziraphale said, pushing the towel into his hands and setting down the shirt on the table. “I thought you might like to switch shirts. We...er, made a mess of yours.”

Crowley looked down at the towel in his hand and set it aside, picking up the undershirt and letting it unfurl. He set it down hurriedly and stood. “Should probably go actually. Getting late.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. Did Crowley regret -

Before Aziraphale could say anything, Crowley was already slipping on his glasses and stuffing his feet into his boots.

“Maybe I can stop by sometime this week and help with your books?” Crowley asked, seemingly to himself. “Or something. I dunno.”

“It’s fine,” Aziraphale said, feeling numb and as if they were talking about two different things. Crowley’s hands moved over his laces and all Aziraphale could think about was how they had felt only five minutes before. What had happened? How had this changed so quickly?

* * *

Crowley drifted into his apartment, the tips of his fingers and toes numb. His skin was tingling and his thoughts wouldn’t slow. What had he done? Why had he rushed off?

He needed to shower. There was a mess in his pants and he felt sticky with sweat. He was still thinking of the sounds Aziraphale had made, the feel of his body against Crowley’s. He felt like an arse for running off but what was he supposed to do? Wait around for the inevitable awkward conversation like: it was a mistake, sorry about that.

It had been so good. Why did he have to ruin it? Like he ruined everything.

Whatever. He would shower. Wash away the evidence. Probably think about how good it was for far too long and then file it under every single other one of Crowley’s mistakes.

Taking off his glasses and fucking a professor against his sodding brand new bookshelf. Fine idea that. Clearly one of Crowley’s best. Here let me show you my fucked up past and then wank you in your study like a fucking slut.

Crowley flipped the shower on to scalding as he tore off his clothes, the stickiness of his underpants only slightly painful as he peeled them off too. The water collided with his chest and knocked the breath from him and all of a sudden he wasn’t in his shower feeling sorry for himself - he was on the ground, a weight on his chest.

_Stop looking at me like that, you fuck-up_. _Just because I slipped up doesn’t mean you can. I said **stop looking at me like that**_ **.**

Thumb meeting eye, shouting, hot blood on hands and cheek.

Crowley fumbled with the tap, gasping, hand pressing against his sternum as he sucked in a breath. He fell out of the shower and collapsed on the toilet, head dropping between his knees as he dripped onto the floor. Breathe in, breathe out.

He sat there until he was cold, air dried, only standing up to get dressed, hands shaking as he pulled on a new pair of briefs and an old shirt. He needed to do something. Maybe he should call Bee or Hastur or even Ligur. Someone to talk to while he started a new puzzle or…

He fished his phone out of his pants, numbness in his extremities not going anywhere as he swiped over the screen, only managing to unlock it after two tries. He had a voicemail.

Aziraphale.

His heart soared just as his stomach dropped, elation warring with fear in a way that made Crowley think he might vomit. He hadn’t vomited after a panic attack in years but there was always time for regression.

Deciding knowing was better than not knowing, Crowley played the voicemail.

_Hello Crowley -_

God, that voice, warm and prim and now Crowley knew what it sounded like threaded with pleasure. Fuck.

_I wanted to call and, well, I wanted to thank you for today. I was having a rather awful time of it before you came over and helped me with my books. I’m certain the damage would have been worse without you and...I was glad to have you here. I know it wasn’t the date I promised you but, perhaps I can make it up to you? Dinner tomorrow?_

_Thank you again. For everything. I had - I had a lovely time._

Crowley leaned back against the wall of the hallway and slid down until his arse hit the floor. He hit play again, letting his head tip back as he closed his eyes.

_A lovely time._

A laugh burst out of him. And then another. Acute relief spinning through him like a web. Maybe it was going to be alright.

He looked at Aziraphale’s name on his phone and hit the call button. He’d run out on him. The very least he could do was call him back, make sure he knew that Crowley…

That Crowley had a nice time too.

Aziraphale picked up and Crowley’s heart was in his throat. “Sorry I missed your call.”

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale said, sounding truly delighted and Crowley closed his eyes to bask in the relief of that for the briefest moment before Aziraphale continued, “It’s quite alright. I’m simply glad to know you made it home safely.”

“Yeah, I did,” Crowley said, letting his legs splay out in front of him as he cradled the phone to his ear. The sound of Aziraphale’s voice continued to push away the gnawing anxiety in Crowley’s gut. Crowley hadn’t fucked up. Not permanently. Aziraphale was still there. Still glad to speak to him. “I wanted to call about tomorrow.”

“Yes?”

“I traded shifts with Bee to have today off so I won’t be free til late.”

Aziraphale let out a thoughtful hum. “What’s late? I’d be happy to take you to a late dinner if you think you’d be up for it.”

Crowley’s stomach fluttered. So understanding. Like he just wanted to see Crowley. Make time for him.

“8 too late?” Crowley offered. The numbness was back in his fingers but this time it felt nice.

“Of course not,” Aziraphale said warmly. “I’ll pick you up then.”

They were both silent for a moment before Aziraphale spoke. “Thank you for returning my call. I - I had a wonderful time with you today and I’d hate to think I’ve spoiled it.”

“You didn’t spoil it, angel,” Crowley said, only wincing a little at the endearment. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You will.”

They hung up and Crowley exhaled. He would see Aziraphale tomorrow. This wasn’t wrecked. He hadn’t wrecked it.

Eventually he’d need to sleep but first, he wanted to put a record on. And he had that Starry Night puzzle he’d been saving. Seemed a good night to start something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i'm absolutely floored by the support ive gotten on this fic so thanks for coming along for the ride!
> 
> Edit: a few weeks back MetalChick drew some amazing art of mechanic crowley which you can see [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20950613/chapters/53505523) (nsfwish)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator who continue to astound me with their emotional insights

The day after an anxiety attack Crowley always felt carved out. All his insides scraped into a pile somewhere he couldn’t see until he was just an empty ribcage and an aching belly. It was a miracle he was able to get out of bed and stumble through a shower, brushing his teeth and grabbing a piece of bread for breakfast before dragging himself to work. 

To his surprise, he found Bee in the shop’s office when he opened up.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pushing his glasses up to scrub at his eyes. “Thought you were taking the day.”

Bee glanced at him and then put their pen down, eyes narrowing as they leaned back in their chair. “I had some paperwork I needed to finish up.”

“How was your date?” Bee asked, clicking their teeth around the T.

Crowley’s heart lurched in his chest. Not so empty after all. “Good. It was...good.”

Bee kicked back from the desk and sniffed, prowling closer to Crowley. God, they could be terrifying. They cocked their head and sly grin overtook their face. “Good enough for not one but _two_ hickeys?” they crowed, tugging down the collar of his shirt.

Crowley blushed and pushed them off. “None of your business.”

“Professor Sunshine giving you hickeys. Imagine that,” Bee said, still grinning at him.

Crowley frowned and said, “Shut up. What needs doing?”

Bee tapped the clipboard on the wall. “Check the list. We got a Volvo with a dented passenger door in yesterday. If you’re interested.”

Crowley snatched the clipboard. “Whatever works.”

Before Crowley could leave, Bee grabbed their elbow, teasing expression gone, replaced by something serious. Crowley knew that look. He wasn’t particularly fond of it. It was the _why are you skipping your appointments, I know you didn’t go to group, eat your damn food_ stare.

“What happened?”

Crowley sighed and collapsed against the doorjamb, taking off his glasses to rub at his scar. It itched. “I showed him the scar. Didn’t talk about why I had it but I showed him.”

Bee hummed and ground their teeth, a scraping buzz. “And?”

“He was good about it,” Crowley said and whatever emptiness he thought he was made of promptly disappeared, hope rushing through his chest. He took a shuddering breath. He was smitten. That much was clear. 

Trying to distract himself, Crowley flipped through the papers on the clipboard pointedly before walking away, pausing when Bee said, “Do you need me to call the lads? We can come over tonight. Keep you busy.”

Crowley bit his cheek. Fuck. Ten years and he still wasn’t used to Bee’s perceptiveness, their easy care. “Nah, I’m - I’m seeing Aziraphale again.”

“Maybe ease up on the hickeys. You’re forty years old. Sheesh,” Bee said and Crowley heard the creak of them resettling in the desk chair behind them as they snickered to themself.

* * *

Aziraphale spent the majority of the day reorganizing his bookshelf and trying very hard not to think about what had happened against that very piece of furniture the night before. He failed miserably more than once.

It was simply that the memory of Crowley’s lithe body pressed to his—the huff of his breath, his gorgeous hands—was enough to make Aziraphale squirm with arousal again. But he kept thinking of how Crowley had run off after and hoped that it wasn’t because of him. 

Their phone call after Crowley left had gone a long way to assuaging his nerves, but he couldn’t help but worry. He kept making himself tea to calm himself and then forgetting that he had. He kept drifting back to his study, getting caught up in old books he should be reshelving and not rereading. 

He thought about calling Anathema but didn’t exactly fancy asking if hand jobs in his living room were perhaps a bad idea. 

Instead, he called ahead to Sardine and made a reservation, resolving to himself that he would have a productive day.

* * *

Crowley tugged his damp hair into a bun and slipped on his sunglasses. He’d finished work on time, gotten home, managed a shower without losing his mind, and was ready to face Aziraphale. His stomach was kicking up a fuss but he was ready. He was.

He’d just spat out mouth rinse when a knock sounded at the door. He scrubbed at his mouth with the towel and half-jogged to answer it. His heart felt like a snare drum, beating out a frenzied rhythm as he opened the door.

It was dark out but the light on Crowley’s landing lit up Aziraphale’s hair just right and into that same halo. He was in his rolled up shirtsleeves and light velvet waistcoat. Crowley wondered, with a lustful twist of his stomach, if he was wearing braces under it. 

At the sight of him, Aziraphale’s expression visibly softened. 

"Crowley," he said like a sigh. Like he was so pleased to see Crowley that he couldn’t contain himself. 

Crowley could relate. Why did seeing Aziraphale feel like waking up?

"I hope I'm not too early," Aziraphale said, his eyes flitting to the side in that nervous way of his. Backlit as he was, Crowley couldn’t quite name the color of them. 

"No, right on time. Let me grab my shoes and keys," Crowley said, jabbing his thumb behind him before leaving Aziraphale on the landing so he could stuff his feet into his shoes and snag his keys from the dish.

"So where are you taking me?" Crowley asked as he turned the key in the lock. 

"Sardine," Aziraphale answered and Crowley’s stomach turned to lead.

"Bit, er, posh don’t you think," Crowley said, already thinking of all the ways he could make a fool of himself.. "I'm not exactly dressed for—"

"Nonsense," Aziraphale said with a little wave of his hand before opening his car door for Crowley. What a fucking gentleman. "You look lovely. As always."

Ah shit. Crowley closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the seat. Lovely. Aziraphale was the lovely one. All shiny and golden. Not like Crowley, a half-formed shadow in the night. 

"And it's my treat remember? I wanted to take you somewhere nice. As a thank you," Aziraphale said easily as he pulled away from the curb.

Crowley scraped his fingernail over the seam of his black jeans. He thought about the feel of Aziraphale’s cock in his hand, the taste of his mouth. Crowley wanted to kiss him again. He should have kissed him hello, should have tugged him back into Crowley’s apartment and gotten on his fucking knees. Then they wouldn’t be halfway to some restaurant Crowley would never think of stepping foot into.

He looked over at Aziraphale. His face was flickering in the passing street lamps. He had such a delicate face. Pretty. A smile always tucked away, ready to bloom at any moment.

"How was work?" Aziraphale asked brightly, breaking the silence like he hadn’t even noticed it.

Crowley cleared his throat and looked at the road. "More of the usual."

Aziraphale gave him a little unimpressed look out of the corner of his eye. "Descriptive. I can picture it."

"S'not very exciting, fixing cars," Crowley said as they pulled into the lot outside Sardine.

"Ah, perhaps it is mundane to you. I suppose recounting the minutiae of exams wouldn't be thrilling to me. But I’m sure I’d find whatever you had to say very interesting," Aziraphale said as they walked inside. "I find you interesting if I'm being honest."

Crowley opened the door for him and tried his very best not to feel so sodding elated. Aziraphale found him interesting. Wanted to hear about his day. Thought he was lovely. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt such an intense urge to hug someone in his life.

Crowley had never been to Sardine. Everything on the menu was double digits and the waiter looked at him askance when he didn’t take off his glasses. Not his scene.

Pointedly ignoring Crowley, the waiter turned to Aziraphale to ask after the wine list. Aziraphale’s normally jubilant smile turned flinty and he waved the man off.

Crowley bit his lip to stop a smile. Not so soft after all.

When the waiter scuttled off, duly cowed, Aziraphale turned a more genuine smile back to Crowley. It felt warm as sunshine in spring. Aziraphale looked totally at home in this place with all its unnecessary forks. He was settling his serviette in his lap when he met Crowley's eyes.

“I realize this is quite silly but I don’t know your full name," Aziraphale said with a nervous laugh. 

Crowley looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath. He didn’t like the direction of this conversation but he knew why he had to have it. Aziraphale had been good about his glasses. He'd be good about this. He hoped. “Crowley’s my last name. Anthony’s first.”

“Would you prefer if I—” Aziraphale trailed off with a meaningful wave of his hand.

“Called me Anthony? No. Everyone calls me Crowley.” He shrugged instead of explaining. Aziraphale didn’t need to know about his bastard father. They were set to have a nice evening and that would certainly ruin it.

Aziraphale gave him a small smile. “I think Crowley quite suits you so no complaints from here.”

Crowley smiled back, relieved. Of course Aziraphale would be supportive, not ask questions. A fucking blessing and a half.

"What do you think?" Aziraphale said, happily moving on, more of that beautiful grin. "Perhaps a nice red for the table."

He said it like red wine might be just a bit mischievous. Crowley grinned back. He fucking _liked_ Aziraphale. Wanted to shag him silly sure, but he was fun, ridiculous, kind. 

"Why don't you choose?" Crowley said, just happy to have the promise of getting to watch as Aziraphale enjoyed his food, maybe humming around sips of wine, closing those gorgeous eyes.

"Well, I won't say no to that," Aziraphale said before looking over the menu, doing his little shimmy thing in his seat that was so bloody cute Crowley had to flex his fingers against the table to stop from saying anything about it. What would he say? Come over here and kiss me right fucking now or I’ll literally combust? 

With concerted effort, he looked back at his menu and frowned. Nothing looked remotely interesting but whatever. Aziraphale was sitting across from him, happy as a clam, and Crowley wouldn’t pass that up for the world. He could be a little bit out of his depth if it meant more of that smile. He could probably have Aziraphale order for him and pretend to enjoy it. That would work.

* * *

Crowley was fidgeting and Aziraphale didn’t like it. He looked uncomfortable, nose wrinkling and then unwrinkling as he looked at the menu. With a frown, Aziraphale tried to figure out what had happened. The waiter had been a bit rude, ignoring Crowley like that. Perhaps Crowley felt uncomfortable.

_Bit posh don’t you think?_

Oh. Aziraphale had been obtuse. He’d been so excited, so ready for an evening with Crowley, he hadn’t even thought about what Crowley would like to do. 

“You don’t like it here,” Aziraphale said. Crowley’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth twisted.

“Didn’t say that.”

Aziraphale laughed. If Crowley thought for a second that his expressions didn’t speak volumes, he was sorely mistaken. “My dear, you don’t have to do things you don’t want. This is me thanking you for your help. I suppose I only thought about what I wanted to share with you. I should have asked. Perhaps you could take me somewhere _you_ like.”

Crowley frowned, mouth tipping down so exaggeratedly that he looked like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon. It was endearing. Aziraphale wanted to kiss him. 

He shuffled in his seat and dismissed the idea. They were in public for one. And two, Crowley looked so extremely uncomfortable that Aziraphale didn’t want to make it worse.

“What’s your favorite place in town? Let me take you there,” Aziraphale said, dismissing his thoughts of oysters and salmon en croute. He wanted to spend time with Crowley and he could do that anywhere.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Crowley said decidedly, looking pointedly back at his menu like that was that.

Aziraphale stood and looked down at Crowley. He wasn’t stopped so easily. “I believe the phrase is _try me_.”

Crowley’s nostrils flared and he looked like he was choking back a laugh. “Alright. Fine. But if you complain, I win.”

“What do you win?” Aziraphale asked, immediately realizing they were dancing _very_ close to some potentially embarrassing innuendo.

Crowley grinned, making Aziraphale feel rather hot about the collar.

* * *

Crowley was smirking as he opened the door to a shop with no sign. It had a flashing open sign but no name or markers of any sort to indicate what Aziraphale was getting into.

“What is this?” Aziraphale said, sniffing the air and trying to piece together what sort of food Crowley was going to have him try. Something fried was involved at the very least.

“You said my favorite place. This is it,” Crowley said with a wide gesture for Aziraphale to go in. 

The place was dim, the back lit up with sharp kitchen lighting behind a long counter. 

“Best gyros in Tadfield,” Crowley said, herding him to the front of the shop. There were only four tables in the whole place and Aziraphale felt distinctly out of his element.

“Is there a menu?” Aziraphale asked, looking around the place for a sign that anyone worked there.

Crowley jabbed his finger into the plexiglass of the service counter and Aziraphale peered down. The options were laid out on a piece of bright orange paper with a ridiculously large typeface. Lamb gyro, chicken gyro, with or without chips. 

“Well, I suppose that’s that,” Aziraphale said primly, running hand over his waistcoat, unsure of what to say. 

“Mr. Crowley,” a man said as he stepped out of the kitchen. He looked a bit of a disaster, in need of a shave, and maybe a wardrobe change. “The usual?"

The man approached the till and squinted at Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked between him and Crowley, at a loss. 

“Who’s this?” the man grunted.

Crowley grinned, seemingly pleased by Aziraphale’s reaction. “This is Aziraphale. Friend of mine. Aziraphale, this is Shadwell.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” this _Shadwell_ said, though he sounded rather disgruntled. Aziraphale thought he seemed the sort of person who was always disgruntled.

“What’ll you have?” Shadwell asked, tapping something out on the till.

“Lamb gyro with chips and Aziraphale will have…” Crowley looked at him, eyebrows up, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

“The same,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. Best gyro in Tadfield supposedly. 

Crowley pulled out some bills to pay but Aziraphale pushed his hands away. “ _No._ I said I would pay.”

Crowley held up his hands in defeat as Aziraphale paid for both of them. Shadwell shuffled back into the kitchen and Aziraphale asked, under his breath, “That man makes the best gyros in Tadfield?”

Crowley nodded decisively, guiding them to a table where he left Aziraphale to watch him fill water cups from a cooler in the corner. How had Aziraphale never been here before? He thought he’d been to every restaurant in town and yet here was this hole in the wall that he had somehow managed to never notice. 

It was a strange place, but Aziraphale immediately noticed how comfortable Crowley was, the way he sprawled in the vinyl booth, right at home. It was so different than how he looked at Sardine, shoulders curled in, fingers tapping nervously on the table. Here, he smiled easily and poked fun when Aziraphale asked questions.

All in all, Aziraphale thought it was rather perfect.

After their order came up, and Aziraphale took his first bite, Crowley stared at him, waiting. When Aziraphale said nothing, Crowley finally caved and asked, “So. What do you think?”

Aziraphale chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the spices, the tang of yogurt sauce and the way the meat was on the right side of too greasy. “Very good.”

“Professor Fell seal of approval then?” Crowley said with a waggle of his eyebrows before he took a large bite of a chip. 

“Seal of approval,” Aziraphale said with a nod, liking how pleased Crowley looked. The dim light of the restaurant made his hair look almost black, his sunglasses bottomless mirrors. Aziraphale thought back to the wide brown eyes that were hidden beneath them and his heart skipped a beat. Perhaps he’d get to see those eyes again. 

He patted his mouth with a napkin and said, “So what do I win?”

“Win?” Crowley asked around his bite of food. Crowley ate so strangely, quick and with no manners to speak of. It should have offended Aziraphale’s sensibilities—he often reminded Anathema to chew with her mouth closed—but he found it oddly charming in a rough around the edges sort of way. Rough and more precious for it.

“You said you’d win something if I didn’t like this. But I do so therefore I’ve won, yes?” 

Crowley cocked his head, considering. “Alright. Fair’s fair. Name your prize.”

Aziraphale hummed and then dragged a chip through a dollop of yogurt sauce that had fallen onto his plate. “We get gelato after this. I’ve been thinking about stracciatella ever since this heat wave picked up.”

“Only if I’m buying,” Crowley said, pointing a chip at him warningly. “It’s your prize after all.”

“Alright, alright,” Aziraphale said, pretending to be very put upon even as he smirked into his gyro, quite pleased indeed.

* * *

Aziraphale pulled up to the curb and turned to Crowley with an easy smile. “Thank you for coming out with me. And also introducing me to Shadwell's. I’m certain I wouldn’t have tried it without you.”

Crowley snorted, not wanting to be totally obvious that he was basking in his success. “I’m sure you would have gotten around to it eventually.”

Crowley expected some sort of retort but instead Aziraphale very suddenly leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m very glad my car broke down,” Aziraphale said, eyes glittering in the moonlight.

Crowley’s heart picked up it’s pace, skipping beats and losing rhythm as he tried to say something but all that came out was a squeak. 

“It allowed me to meet you. I don’t think I would have otherwise,” Aziraphale said simply, reaching out to take Crowley’s hand. He pressed a kiss to the back of it and Crowley was fairly certain his heart left his body. Or maybe that was his stomach. Who knew?

“Want to come up?” Crowley asked, voice scratched out of him. He was about two seconds away from launching himself at Aziraphale and he would prefer not to do that in a car. Even if his cock seemed quite interested in the idea of leaning over and sucking Aziraphale off right in the driver’s seat.

“Co-come up?” Aziraphale repeated, clearly surprised. Crowley suddenly regretted saying anything. Too fast. Too forward.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, blinking rapidly. “Of course.”

Relieved beyond measure, Crowley led them upstairs, already thinking about all the ways he wanted to touch Aziraphale. Hopefully, Aziraphale wanted him too. 

When they stepped inside, Aziraphale drifted to his breakfast bar, reaching out as if ready to touch before looking back at Crowley with an awestruck expression. “Starry Night? You do puzzles?”

Crowley looked at his feet as he toed off his shoes. Jesus, this was embarrassing. “Yeah, er, they help me focus when I’m stressed.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, fingers hovering over the edges of the puzzle. There wasn’t much complete, just the frame and a few patches of yellow. “Did you - did you start this yesterday?”

Crowley shrugged a single shoulder, not sure what the right answer to that was. He didn’t exactly want to imply that Aziraphale had caused him stress when really it was Crowley causing Crowley stress. 

“I’m sorry if you felt stressed,” Aziraphale said, approaching him carefully. Crowley’s eyes dropped to his bow tie, a light blue that made his eyes look like the ocean. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“I know it’s - not your fault, angel,” Crowley said, oddly breathless as Aziraphale circled his wrist with his fingers. 

“Would you be alright if I kissed you again?” Aziraphale asked, making Crowley feel better because he also sounded wrecked. 

“Yeah. Any time. Consider this blanket permission,” Crowley said, words falling out of him before he could think. He was babbling, but he couldn't look away from Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Thank God,” Aziraphale breathed, slipping a hand behind Crowley’s nape and pulling him down into a soft kiss.

For some reason, Crowley had expected that burning need from the night before; clashing of teeth and tongue, but Aziraphale moved his mouth over Crowley’s carefully. Their noses brushed together, reminding Crowley he was still wearing his glasses. His stomach lurched, but he reasoned that kissing Aziraphale was worth a bit of discomfort.

He pulled back to tug his glasses off, tossing them on the sideboard before cupping Aziraphale’s cheek and kissing him again. He felt so good in Crowley’s arms. Warm. The soft texture of his waistcoat under Crowley’s fingers made Crowley half mad. 

Without conscious thought, Crowley nudged them back until Aziraphale’s knees hit his sofa so Crowley could push him down against the cushions. Aziraphale was pink cheeked and put together. Crowley wanted to unbutton him. The night before he hadn’t been able to.

With a flash of lust, Crowley remembered the feel of Aziraphale’s cock in his hand. He pushed Aziraphale’s thighs apart and dropped to his knees, fingers at the buttons of his waistcoat. 

“I want to take this off,” he said simply and Aziraphale just nodded, wide-eyed, the movement revealing the little roll under his chin. Crowley grit his teeth to stop himself from surging up and kissing it. 

He slipped the velvet-covered buttons through their holes, watching the fabric part under his hand. He ran his palm up Aziraphale’s thigh, relishing the soft heat of it. When the waistcoat finally parted, falling to the sides of Aziraphale’s belly, Crowley rose up and kissed him delicately, matching Aziraphale’s pace from before. Apparently, Aziraphale had other plans because he sank one hand into Crowley’s hair, cradling his skull as he flicked his tongue over his mouth. 

One of Aziraphale’s wide palms was wrapped around Crowley’s hip. He had a moment of feeling entirely possessed, Aziraphale holding him in place and kissing him so thoroughly before he remembered what he was after, reaching up tug open his bow tie.

It unfurled under his hands as he ran his palm down over Aziraphale’s chest, his belly, reaching between them to undo his trousers. Aziraphale made a surprised noise in his mouth.

Crowley moved to kiss over the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck, rewarded by Aziraphale’s gasping breaths. He slid his hands under the sides of Aziraphale’s waistcoat, encountering braces that made his stomach curl with desperate want. He pulled away just to watch as he pushed Aziraphale’s waistcoat off his shoulders. He wrapped his fingers around the straps of his braces and tugged once, whining low in his throat. “These are so…”

“Yes, I know they're not very fashionable. You wouldn’t be the first to say so,” Aziraphale said, still gripping his hip as he carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair, tugging lightly on the elastic until it gave way. 

Crowley’s nostrils flared. “I was going to say fucking hot,” he said, gripping the braces before sliding them off Aziraphale’s shoulders to follow his waistcoat. He climbed up on the sofa to bracket Aziraphale’s thighs, settling in Aziraphale’s lap, so he could work over the rest of his buttons. 

“Layers,” he grunted as he struggled with the final button. Aziraphale laughed and helped Crowley push off his shirt. All that did was press Aziraphale closer, allowing Crowley to inhale the sandalwood scent of his shampoo.

"Undershirt too," Crowley said, a bit at a loss for full sentences. He was so close to seeing Aziraphale’s body. He hoped Aziraphale would let him. 

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment before leaning forward to peel his shirt over his head. Heart hammering in his chest, Crowley took in the full breadth of him.

His forearms were darker than his upper arms. The array of freckles on his shoulders was fascinating. Did they have a texture? Crowley brushed his knuckles over the strange constellation of them and felt only smooth skin. 

Without his undershirt, Crowley could see all of Aziraphale’s softness, the way his arms splayed slightly, small dimples in the flesh. Crowley knew the strength of those arms. His chest was pillowed, each breast swelled enough to warrant a small shadow. Crowley would bet that little spot was sensitive, that Aziraphale would moan if he licked over it. 

He met Aziraphale’s eyes as he placed his hands flat on Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale exhaled long and slow, one hand coming to hold Crowley’s side, holding him in place. Crowley made a noise he’d be embarrassed about if he wasn’t so turned on. Aziraphale was so warm. Crowley wanted to sink into him, wrap his arms around that body and be held. 

When was the last time someone had held him? 

Crowley traced his nails over Aziraphale’s belly, liking the way the slight swell of it rolled over the waistband of his boxers, enough to fill his hands with.

Crowley wanted all of Aziraphale’s clothes off but he couldn’t wait. He’d been thinking about Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth for so long and he was so close. He ran a hand up Aziraphale’s chest, flicking a thumb over his nipple as he dropped back between his legs. There wasn't enough of him to hold all of Aziraphale but fuck, he wanted to.

He tugged Aziraphale’s trousers down around his thighs and thrilled at Aziraphale’s shuddering breath when he caressed his hips through the fabric of his boxers. Crowley had never thought of tartan boxers as particularly sexy, but he’d apparently grossly misjudged because the blue and green fabric against Aziraphale’s pale skin was like a work of art, loose cotton tented by Aziraphale’s hard cock. The sight made Crowley’s tongue ache with the desire to taste. He wanted to nuzzle against Aziraphale's hip, taste the salt on his skin, swallow him deep.

Aziraphale gasped, scraping his nails over Crowley’s scalp, gathering a handful of his hair and just holding. Crowley had fantasized about Aziraphale holding his head still and fucking his mouth but this was good too. It was better. It made Crowley feel somehow precious as Aziraphale stared down at him, mouth parted. 

He pulled down Aziraphale’s boxers, heart surging with anticipation. His cock was as lovely as Crowley had dreamed. Crowley hadn’t misjudged its thickness when he’d brought Aziraphale off the night before. It stood straight, the tip flushed dark red and glistening with precome. Crowley had made him leak like that, made him hard.

Pressing the heel of his hand against his own cock just to find some relief, Crowley pushed his hand up Aziraphale’s stomach. There was a line of dark blonde hair leading from his belly button to his cock and Crowley licked over it, the scrape of hair against Crowley’s tongue sending shivers through him. Aziraphale’s prick rubbed over his cheek as he nuzzled his pelvis, sucking marks wherever he could reach.

* * *

Crowley was on his knees and Aziraphale couldn’t look away. His fingers were tangled in Crowley’s hair, threads of copper and fire, and Crowley looked like he wanted to eat him alive. It wasn’t a look he was used to seeing on people’s faces when they looked at him and it made his stomach squirm, desire and discomfort swirled together into something desperate.

"Are you sure?" Aziraphale asked on a thready breath. He felt strung tight, and Crowley was set to snap him.

Instead of replying, Crowley gripped his cock and slid it into his mouth, groaning like somehow Aziraphale was pleasuring him which was impossible because the feel of his mouth was making _Aziraphale’s_ toes curl. He released Crowley’s hair for fear of hurting him, hands coming down flat on the sofa as he gasped.

Crowley did something with his tongue that had Aziraphale’s back arching as he cried out.

"Fuck," he gasped and Crowley’s hand tightened on his hip, movements of his mouth pausing. Aziraphale looked down to see what had stopped him only to regret it because Crowley, golden brown eyes wide, lips stretched around his cock? It was obscene. The most pornographic thing Aziraphale had ever seen. 

"Fuck," he breathed again, unable to resist sliding his hand back into Crowley’s hair, delicately holding it back and out of his face as he swallowed Aziraphale down again.

Aziraphale had been known to utter some...choice phrases in bed. Some of his partners had liked it. Others had politely asked if they could maybe keep things a bit more sedate in the bedroom.

But, even if Aziraphale had wanted to stop himself right then, he was too overwhelmed to do it.

"Look at you," he said, cradling Crowley’s scalp as he watched Crowley take him all the way down, groaning when his cock nudged the back of his throat. "You take my cock so well. Your mouth. Gorgeous."

Crowley whined, a rumbling in his chest, as his fingers sank deeper into the flesh of Aziraphale’s hips. The vibration of it raised goosebumps all along Aziraphale’s arms and he had to resist thrusting up into Crowley’s mouth.

"Ah, fuck. Clever hands, clever mouth. I wanted to be in it. Knew you’d be hot as anything."

Spit dribbled down Aziraphale’s shaft as Crowley continued to make little sharp noises of arousal. Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t last much longer, not with the way Crowley was licking and sucking like he’d dreamed of this moment and was savoring every second. "Crowley," he moaned. "Just like that. Are you going to make me come? Would you like to take it in your pretty mouth?"

Crowley made an affirmative noise, hand pressing flat against Aziraphales hips as he swallowed him down. With a cry, Aziraphale came, body curling forward over Crowley’s head as he sucked him through it. 

When Crowley finally pulled off, they were both breathing hard. Aziraphales's come was dripping down his chin so Aziraphale grabbed his discarded undershirt, pulling Crowley into his lap so he could carefully wipe the mess from his face. 

"You know, you should have told me you had a filthy mouth," Crowley said raggedly, hands exploring Aziraphale’s chest, thumbing over his nipples. "Thought I was about to die. Right there at your feet. Local man killed by dirty talk."

Aziraphale snorted, embarrassed, and decided that Crowley needed to be thoroughly kissed. He made a surprised noise against Aziraphale’s lips but didn't protest as Aziraphale tasted him. 

“Can I touch you too?” Aziraphale asked, hands already on Crowley’s buttons as Crowley carefully tucked him back into his boxers, making his hips twitch at the stimulation. 

Crowley hummed, too busy kissing his neck to say anything, just rocking up against his belly, the scrape of his zip tantalizing against Aziraphale’s sensitive skin. Aziraphale undid the buttons of his black shirt, heart in his throat as he watched that honeyed skin appear inch after inch. The dip of his collarbone, the valley of his sternum, the toned plane of his stomach. He brushed his knuckles over his stomach and liked the way the muscles jumped. He’d seen Crowley shirtless that day he’d stopped by the shop but it had been so brief. He wanted to lay Crowley out and see every facet of him. He was so unbearably gorgeous. Each patch of ginger hair on his chest was fascinating. Aziraphale grasped his arse and lifted him out of his lap so he could push him back against the cushions.

Crowley made a surprised sound but seemed to appreciate the movement because he grasped Aziraphale’s face and pulled him into a filthy kiss. It was suitably distracting that Aziraphale lost his purpose for a long moment, finally gathering himself enough to pull back so he could fully appreciate the sight in front of him. 

Hair mussed and splayed out around Crowley’s head, black shirt open and falling to both sides of his chest, he looked wonderful. There were two dark patches on his neck that sent something dark and possessive off in Aziraphale’s stomach. He brushed his fingers over them. “Did I do this?”

Crowley nodded, swallowing visibly as he grasped at Aziraphale’s wrist, uselessly trying to tug him back down. Aziraphale laughed breathlessly, pulling Crowley’s hand to his own mouth to press a kiss to his pulse. “I’m going to take care of you.”

Crowley whined and rolled his hips up into him. Feeling very powerful indeed, Aziraphale moved down the couch and undid Crowley’s trousers, pulling his pants down with them. His cock leaked beautifully, enough to slightly slick the movements of his hand when Aziraphale finally started to stroke him. Crowley was staring down at him, eyes full of a nameless emotion that had Aziraphale’s stomach fluttering. Aziraphale had planned to return the favor, to taste Crowley and bring him off with his mouth, but with Crowley looking at him like that, he needed to kiss him. 

Not stopping the movements of his hand, Aziraphale moved back up Crowley’s body and kissed him, heart crying out at Crowley’s murmured, _yes_ like Crowley had been desperate to kiss him too. 

Before long, Crowley was gasping into his mouth, their kiss becoming a biting thing so they could both catch their breath as Azirahale stroked him.

"Will you come for me, Crowley?" he asked, his faded arousal still thrumming through his body as he brought Crowley closer to the edge. Crowley groaned.

"Fuck. Yes. Aziraphale, fuck," Crowley hands sank into Aziraphale’s thighs, fingers digging tight as his cock pulsed hot and heavy, spilling over Aziraphale’s hand and onto his stomach. 

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, pushing Crowley back into a harsh kiss.

"Gorgeous thing. Beautiful," he said between kisses. It wasn’t enough, just saying it once. Crowley was one of the most mesmerizing things he had ever seen, body flushed, chest heaving. Aziraphale wanted to make him look like that again, know he was aching for Aziraphale’s touch.

They kissed for a long time. Long enough for Aziraphale’s arms to grow tired from where he was holding himself up above Crowley’s body. He pulled away with regret and fell on his arse on the far end of the sofa as Crowley moved to sit up.

“Jesus,” Crowley said, pushing his hair back from his face. 

Aziraphale huffed a laugh. “Quite.”

Crowley stood, open shirt moving about his hips as he put himself back together. “Should clean myself up. Be right back.”

Then Crowley kissed his forehead before walking off to the bathroom. Aziraphale stared after him, feeling very lucky indeed.

* * *

Crowley scrubbed down his belly with a damp cloth and tried to gather his thoughts. That was—that had been…

Fuck.

His whole body felt relaxed, muscles wrung out. When he looked in the mirror his mouth and chin were pink from stubble burn. If he were younger, just the sight would make him ready to go again. As it was, his cock twitched in his jeans and he laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

This was good. A bloody good thing. Aziraphale liked him. Thought that it was lucky they had met. Crowley certainly felt lucky. A rare thing in his shit life.

He buttoned up his shirt, momentarily thankful that Aziraphale hadn’t taken it off. They’d have to have that conversation. Another scar to show. But Crowley couldn’t—not today.

When he went back into the living room, Aziraphale was already putting himself together, half buttoned up where he was seated on the couch.

Crowley frowned.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked, hands pausing on the buttons of his waistcoat. He had placed his dirty undershirt on one of the couch cushions. 

“Yeah, fine. Are you?” Crowley asked, nerves gathering once more. 

“More than,” Aziraphale said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle fetchingly. He stood and kissed Crowley softly. Crowley melted into it, letting his hands fall onto Aziraphale’s sides as he kissed him back.

Aziraphale pulled away much too soon, going back to buttoning himself up.

“You can stay you know. If you like,” Crowley offered but Aziraphale was already tucking his bow tie into his pocket and putting on his shoes.

He gave Crowley a sad smile. “I wish I could but I teach an 8 AM tomorrow. Best be off.”

Crowley swallowed thickly. Oh. Of course.

He walked numbly to the door to open it for Aziraphale. 

“Thank you for this evening,” Aziraphale said, sounding distracted as he patted himself down for his keys. He plucked them out of his pocket with those pretty hands and turned a bright grin on Crowley. “I’ll see you later this week?”

“Yeah, sure. Later this week,” Crowley repeated. What had he been thinking? This wasn’t—three dates didn’t mean they were in a relationship. This wasn’t making love and waking up together. This was fucking.

Which was good too. It was good.

Or so Crowley told himself.

Aziraphale brushed a kiss over Crowley’s cheek, sending delighted tingles down Crowley’s back. He was so easy. Responding like that to a bloody kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, my dear. I had a wonderful time,” Aziraphale said with a final squeeze to his bicep before turning away. “I’ll call you and we can set something up.”

Crowley nodded. “Have a good night, angel.”

“You too,” Aziraphale said, already trotting down the steps. Crowley shut the door and sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: i gave this 15 chapters due to the plot i had in my head and then i realized the list of plot points and thirst scenarios will most likely require more time so im bumping the number up though it is still subject to change
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator
> 
> shout out to the GO romcom discord for helping me with thirst ideas. You guys rock.
> 
> cw: mentions of scars from past drug use

Aziraphale was doing a rather miserable job of teaching Intro to Latin. He was supposed to be walking the students through basic exercises and he kept getting distracted with thoughts of the day before. Mostly of the way Crowley had looked with his mouth stretched around his cock. Very much something he should _not_ be thinking about while teaching.

The students seemed none the wiser, grumbling and chatting their way through the exercises as normal. Most of them were good kids, even if he doubted more than two of them would move on to the next class. Students rarely stuck with Latin unless they had a passion for it.

After dismissing the class a few minutes early, Aziraphale gathered his things to return to his office. Unfortunately, Gabriel was waiting for him outside his office.

“Ah, Gabriel!” Aziraphale said, juggling the books and papers in his arms to unlock his door. “Come in.”

“How was your weekend, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked, perfunctory but polite. He really was the strangest man. American for one. Plasticine for another.

Aziraphale valiantly tried not to blush and knew he was failing. It didn’t matter because it wasn’t as if Gabriel could read his mind. He couldn’t see the images of filthy hand jobs that flashed through Aziraphale’s mind.

“Go-good,” Aziraphale stammered, trying to set down his pile of papers and mostly spilling them over his desk.

Gabriel reached out and helped him gather them. “That’s good to hear. Need our best professor rested up!”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly. Why was Gabriel here? It couldn’t be good.

“So, er, how can I help you?” Aziraphale asked politely.

Gabriel frowned at him. “We had a meeting. You said you wanted to go over potential funding for a research assistant next term.”

Aziraphale floundered for a moment. Had he set up a meeting? It must have been weeks ago.

Gabriel laughed, a booming thing that made the hair on Aziraphale’s neck stand up. “I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t remember setting this up. It was a while ago.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Aziraphale said in a rush, “I don’t have anything prepared to discuss. Could we reschedule?”

Gabriel waved his hand, looking much more relaxed than Aziraphale had expected. “That’s fine. Same time next week?”

Aziraphale nodded, stomach in knots. How could he have forgotten? He was supposed to put together his research proposal and financials and all he had was half-scratched out notes somewhere in a notebook probably buried under other papers in his office.

“Just don’t forget again,” Gabriel said easily. “I’m looking forward to hearing your proposal.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped as Gabriel left the room. He couldn’t make any mistakes like this. Not when he was up for a permanent lectureship. It was unprofessional.

Thoughts of setting up a nice date with Crowley some evening that week promptly went out the window. He had a proposal to prepare and he’d be inundated with marking over the weekend.

Terrible timing.

He typed out a quick email to Anathema to cancel lunch, hoping that if he got a bit of work done he’d feel better. First, he needed to track down that notebook.

* * *

Crowley had had a long day. Bee had decided to take the piss all morning about his hickeys. He still only had the two thank you very much. And then they pressed for details about his date which Crowley deftly avoided by knocking into things every time they asked about it.

Crowley spent most of the day decidedly not thinking about Aziraphale running off immediately the night before. Instead, he had to disassemble the engine of an old Ford to inspect the engine block which—sure enough—was cracked. That was going to be a fun customer conversation. Probably some yelling. Maybe he could get Bee to make the call.

It was one of those days that, when Crowley got home, he could never manage to scrub all the dirt from under his nails. The heat wave had finally broken and he’d been able to wear a t-shirt so not every inch of his arms was filthy, but even after a good scrub there were still fine bits of black grease stuck on his skin.

It was just the sort of day where a long shower meant nothing because Crowley emerged still slightly dirty, still aching. He pushed his towel dried hair out of his face. It was getting too long and he knew it. What had it been? Six months since he’d gotten a haircut?

After he tugged on his softest sweats and one of his older shirts, he fished his phone out of his trousers only to find he had a missed call. Aziraphale. He smiled before he could stop himself. So what if seeing Aziraphale’s name on his screen was like a rush of pure serotonin? They were friends. They liked each other. And now they would presumably be shagging as well. All good things.

This time Aziraphale hadn’t left a voicemail so, trying not to overthink it, Crowley dialed him back.

It went to the answering machine and Crowley frowned. He didn’t love leaving messages. “Yeah, hi, Aziraphale, this is Crowley. Sorry I missed your call—”

The phone picked up and Aziraphale rushed to say, “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I was in the kitchen and couldn’t answer fast enough.”

“S’alright,” Crowley said, already feeling particular tingles at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. It was so prim and proper and should _not_ make Crowley feel that way. “You called?”

“Oh, yes, I wanted to call and apologize,” Aziraphale said. “I’m quite busy this week and I know I said I’d call and set something up but I don’t think I’ll have any free time and I’d hate to cancel on you at the last minute.”

Crowley looked at the ceiling and decided he was going to ignore the rather painful flare of disappointment in his gut. It was fine. They were keeping things casual. Which was fine.

“That’s fine. I understand. Do you think you’ll be free any time soon?” Crowley asked and then he kicked himself. He shouldn’t press like that. Aziraphale could set the pace and he hardly needed to know that Crowley had spent a better part of the day idly thinking about the way he’d looked spread out against Crowley’s sofa cushions.

Aziraphale hummed. “It’s just that I’ve got a funding presentation next Monday and I have no idea how long it will take me to prepare. It was supposed to be today but I entirely forgot. I looked quite the fool in front of the head of my department.”

Crowley sank down on the edge of his bed and cradled the phone against his ear. “I thought you _weren’t_ an absentminded professor?”

Aziraphale made a disgruntled sound. “Well, I had a very distracting weekend if you must know. You see, I met this handsome mechanic.”

Crowley grinned, stomach playing an enthusiastic round of hopscotch as he sat back against his headboard. “Did you now? What a coincidence. I had quite a weekend myself. Met this professor. Fascinating fellow. Nicest smile you ever did see.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished, sounding not very put out at all. In fact, he sounded rather pleased.

“He subjected me to this horrid place called IKEA though. Have you heard of it?” Crowley asked, unable to stop grinning. This was truly awful flirting but fuck, it was fun.

“You’re being very silly,” Aziraphale said and Crowley snorted.

“You started it.”

“I was trying to pay you a compliment.”

“By being silly,” Crowley retorted and then Aziraphale laughed which was by far the highlight of his day. That laugh, bright and genuine. Crowley could picture his smile on the other side of the line, the way his eyes crinkled.

“I really should go, my dear,” Aziraphale said with a disappointed sigh. Or at least it sounded disappointed. “I will call you when I’m free. Most likely next Monday.”

“Next Monday then,” Crowley said, resolving to obsess about this whole thing less. He couldn’t spend the rest of the week fantasizing and bumping into things. That way lay bruises and a great deal of mockery.

“Next Monday,” Aziraphale repeated. “Have a lovely week, Crowley.”

Crowley hung up and tossed his phone onto the bed beside him, tipping his head back. He let out a long soothing breath before rolling over and pushing his face into the pillow to stop from smiling.

* * *

“This all looks fine to me,” Anathema said between bites of her cheese and tomato sandwich, looking over Aziraphale’s notes. “Seems an interesting research topic. Appetites in Ovid. Gabriel will eat that shit up. And he knows you’re good at getting published.”

Aziraphale took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew Anathema was right but he couldn’t stop the way his nerves were fluttering. Something about Gabriel did that to him. Aziraphale didn’t particularly like the man but he wasn’t unkind. Sometimes he was downright helpful. He’d gone to bat with the Dean to get him approved for that conference in America last year. But he just looked at you with those strangely empty deep blue eyes and Aziraphale was terrified he could see right through him, see every lie he had ever told, see his deepest secrets. There were a handful of things Gabriel couldn’t know about him, not if Aziraphale wanted to get this professorship.

So Aziraphale avoided outside of work interactions—and truthfully, _at work_ interactions.

“What a dreadful week,” Aziraphale said, letting his head tip back against his desk chair. He should have known better than to schedule tests in two of his classes. It never went well.

Anathema wrinkled her nose. “Mercury’s in retrograde you know. That’s probably what’s making you feel off. I have a few crystals in my office—”

“No thank you, Anathema,” Aziraphale said. “I think some rest before a weekend of grading is what I need. And then I can get this thing with Gabriel over with.”

“Are you seeing your mechanic this weekend?” Anthama asked innocently, blinking her eyes behind her spectacles like she had no intentions whatsoever. Aziraphale was not so easily tricked.

“Are you seeing Newt?” Aziraphale shot back.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she replied easily. “Dinner tomorrow which probably means breakfast on Sunday.”

Aziraphale made an exaggerated face of disgust. “Too many details.”

“You know, for such a nerdy guy, he’s really good in be—”

“Details, Anathema!” Aziraphale said.

Anathema smirked and took another bite of her sandwich.

“So...mechanic?” Anathema asked again.

“I’m not sure I have time,” Aziraphale said with a frown. “All this marking and it has been an awfully stressful week.”

Anathema gave him a piercing look that would probably have had Aziraphale taking a step back if he’d been standing up. As it was, he sat up straighter.

“Don’t have time or not willing to make the time? Are you avoiding something?”

Aziraphale didn’t like that question. He certainly wasn’t avoiding Crowley. He’d had a wonderful time with him, and yes, perhaps that was a little frightening because he did feel quite a lot of positive emotions for the man which was very fast by his standards and Crowley most certainly didn’t feel the same way because he was wonderful and Aziraphale was—

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shoulders sagging.

“See, Mercury. In retrograde. It’s making you fall back on old habits,” Anathema said decisively.

And while Aziraphale didn’t go in for all the astrology nonsense, he could at least admit Anathema had a point.

* * *

_Crowley, I know it’s late notice but I’m free this evening and if you’re not busy, I was wondering if you’d like to get together. Give me a call if you like._

Crowley put his phone down on the table and stared at it.

“Who was that?” Bee asked, setting down their pint.

“Aziraphale. He wanted to know if I was free tonight,” Crowley replied. It was pub night. Hastur and Ligur were at the bar getting another round and Crowley was stuck with Bee eyeing him up.

“Invite him,” Bee said as if it was easy as that.

“Invite who?” Ligur said, setting a pint down in front of Crowley.

Crowley scowled at it, watching a single drop of condensation roll down the side instead of answering.

“Crowley’s been on three—or is it four?—dates with that professor,” Bee explained.

“The one who was here a few weeks back?” Hastur said looking between Ligur and Bee before letting out a grating laugh. Crowley had no idea if he was being laughed at or if Hastur was happy for him. But that was pretty normal for Hastur.

“Seemed a bit stodgy,” Ligur said, fixing Crowley with a look.

“Crowley came into work on Sunday with hickeys,” Bee said gleefully.

“Hickeys!” Hastur and Ligur crowed in unison clacking their glasses together before Hastur dissolved into another fit of giggles.

Ligur elbowed him. “Invite him, Crowley.”

Crowley fidgeted and then picked up his phone. “Fine. I have to - I’ll call him outside.”

The table behind him hooted and hollered as he picked his way to the door. It was a bit busy for a Friday night and he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale would like that very much. He wasn’t _stodgy_ but he was...particular.

The night air cooled Crowley’s cheeks. It finally felt like autumn was settling in earnest and Crowley took a deep breath before dialing Aziraphale.

He picked up on the third ring, already sounding delighted that Crowley had called.

“I’m out at the pub,” Crowley said when Aziraphale asked after the background noise. “I thought I’d call and see if you wanted to come. You said you were free and…”

“Oh! Yes. I’d love to come.”

Crowley closed his eyes in relief. “Great yeah. Remember that place we ran into each other? The Four Horseman? I’m here with Bee.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there in two shakes.”

Aziraphale hung up and Crowley looked at his phone. Two shakes.

* * *

Aziraphale spent too long thinking about what to wear. He was not _cool_. He did not own anything black. He pictured the people he had met with Crowley a few weeks ago. Bee had been in head-to-toe black, an oversized jumper that swallowed their small body and tight trousers. The two odd men Crowley had mentioned were together had dressed a bit rough, hair disheveled and clothes rumpled.

Aziraphale felt with some certainty that he would not fit in no matter what he wore. Sighing, he tugged out a light blue shirt that looked nice beneath his tan and white argyle sweatervest. It wasn’t fashionable but it suited him. He flashed back to Crowley fisting his hands in his braces and saying, _it’s fucking hot_ before kissing him until he couldn’t breathe.

He had done so well putting thoughts like that aside all week and now here he was, the prospect of seeing Crowley on the horizon and he was getting weak at the knees.

“You’ll be fine. He likes you,” Aziraphale murmured to himself as he quickly did his bow tie, hands moving by memory.

Crowley did like him. Liked him enough to tease him on the phone, to call him back and invite him out. Enough to snog him on his couch and then some. Maybe some day he could get Crowley to bend him over that couch and fuck him. Aziraphale had very particular thoughts about those hips and what they could do. Even if, perhaps, he shouldn’t be lingering on such things.

Aziraphale managed to get himself to the pub in one piece, no untimely accidents caused by blatant fantasizing about hips or other things.

When he walked inside, the place was much busier than it had been before and he started when someone grabbed his elbow.

He turned, reprimand on his tongue, when he saw it was Crowley. He was wearing his hair half up, sunglasses shielding his eyes, and he had a secretive smile on his face.

“Hey, angel, we’re over here,” Crowley said with a light tug on his arm. Aziraphale wanted to ask why Crowley called him angel, but he was afraid it would make him stop, and Aziraphale was far too fond of his little habit to risk it’s disappearance.

Crowley led him through the press of bodies by the bar and back towards the same corner by the billiards tables. All Aziraphale could think about was the heat of his fingers where they circled his wrist, the light scratch of calluses. For once, Crowley wasn’t wearing long sleeves. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt that was doing unfair things to Aziraphale’s stomach. He could see the flex of Crowley’s forearms. They were dusted in light hair, the knob of his wrist stark and delicate at once.

Aziraphale had the wild urge to yank him back, wrap his arms around him and kiss him like they were in some sort of ridiculous American film where people made vapid declarations of love and kissed dramatically in public.

Instead, he turned his hand to grasp Crowley’s, squeezing lightly before pulling away. Crowley paused by the billiards table and turned back. It was much quieter in this corner of the bar and for a moment it felt as if all the air left the room, as if the light dilated until they were at the center of everything. One corner of Crowley’s mouth ticked up and he reached out to pluck at the hem of Aziraphale’s sweatervest.

“I like this,” Crowley said and, if it weren’t for the way he was looking at him, Aziraphale would have thought he was being made fun of. But it was clear to him that Crowley was quite serious. Serious about _liking his sweatervest_. Crowley’s hand crept under the hem and he squeezed Aziraphale’s hip before retreating. Aziraphale squeaked in surprise.

“Tan’s your color I think,” Crowley said, leaving Aziraphale speechless as he turned and sauntered into a dark corner where Aziraphale saw the famous Bee and the two men he recognized from before. One quite pale and the other dark. Their hands were twined together on the table but that was the only part of their body language that indicated they were together. Other than that, they sat stiffly, practically leaning away from each other.

“Hullo,” Aziraphale said awkwardly, sitting down at the table while three sets of disconcerting eyes turned to him.

“You guys remember Aziraphale,” Crowley said with a careless wave of his hand before pushing a glass of wine in Aziraphale’s direction. “I got you a glass. Merlot, right?”

Aziraphale stared at the glass, strangely touched by the gesture. Crowley remembered what wine he had ordered. That was…

“Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you,” Aziraphale said, still staring at the red liquid and suddenly overcome with the desire to be closer to Crowley. He wanted to get his hands on him. His tongue in that smart mouth.

“So you’re the bloke Crowley’s dating,” the pale man said—Aziraphale wracked his mind for the name, Ha-something.

Aziraphale nearly choked on his sip of wine. “I mean we’re—we’ve been—”

“We’re getting to know each other, Hastur,” Crowley said pointedly, both relieving Aziraphale’s awkwardness and making his stomach turn cold with disappointment.

He supposed they weren’t actually _together_. They had only been on a handful of dates and while _dating_ was technically accurate, it did have connotations. Maybe Crowley wasn’t comfortable with those connotations.

Bee leaned forward out of the shadows like some dark monarch holding court. “A table’s free. Anyone for billiards?”

* * *

Crowley cursed himself for not bringing a long-sleeve shirt. He hadn’t expected to see Aziraphale but he should have thought ahead. It was dim in the bar and all he could hope was that Aziraphale wouldn’t notice the pink marks on his arms. His whole history was written in them. _Hey, I used to shoot up. Sorry I didnt mention it_.The marks were faded but not that much. Not if Aziraphale was paying attention. 

Ligur baited him into a game of pool as was their unspoken tradition so Crowley left Aziraphale at the side of the room, giving him an apologetic smile before preparing to wipe the floor with Ligur.

Crowley remembered the way Aziraphale had looked at him last time they’d been at the pub. A hungry look that Crowley had been lucky enough to see a few more times since then.

So what if Aziraphale had practically choked when Hastur implied they were together? Aziraphale was here. He looked happy enough about it. And, maybe, if Crowley played his cards right, he might be able to get Aziraphale to go home with him.

Aziraphale really had no business looking so put together in a sodding pub. Always buttoned up, resplendent in argyle. Since when had Crowley had a thing for argyle? Apparently since meeting Aziraphale because just the sight of him in that sweatervest had Crowley gagging for it. The fabric did that thing where it hugged his belly just right, showing off a hint of the true shape of his body. The tan and light blue combination was also doing something quite nice, but mostly Crowley wanted to take all of it off.

“Are you ready to lose, Ligur?” Crowley asked, tearing his gaze away from Aziraphale where he was perched at a high top by the wall looking cute and delicious. Bastard.

Ligur chuckled darkly as he racked the balls. And that was that.

Ligur was fine at billiards but he hadn’t been playing as long as Crowley so he rarely won. But it was tradition. Crowley would beat Ligur and then Ligur would beat Hastur all while Bee watched and heckled them.

And tonight Aziraphale was watching. So if Crowley put on a bit more of a show than normal, well, Bee could give him shit later.

* * *

Crowley was magnificent and Aziraphale couldn’t look away. He vaguely registered that Bee had taken up post by his elbow, but he was too busy staring at Crowley to notice. The flex of his arms when he lined up his shot. The cut of his black sleeves right across the dip in his bicep. Just looking at him had Aziraphale feeling warm all over.

He sipped at his wine and tried to collect himself. There were _people_ here. They were in _public_ and Aziraphale knew he was practically undressing Crowley with his eyes.

With a jolt, he realized he hadn’t been able to properly undress Crowley. He’d seen the tight lines of his torso that day in the garage, the V of his hips as they disappeared into his waistband. He wanted to see the rest of him.

Crowley bent over the table carefully, moving the cue into the cradle of his fingers. His shoulder blades flexed under the fabric of his black shirt and Aziraphale thought his eyes might fall out of his head. Either that or he was set to come in his trousers just from watching Crowley play pool.

He wanted to ruck up that shirt and rest his hands in the tantalizing dimples of his back, rip off those sunglasses and look into those gorgeous eyes while Crowley came. It had only been a week since they had seen each other and yet Aziraphale’s hands ached with the desire to touch him.

More than anything, Aziraphale hoped Crowley would let him.

* * *

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s gaze on him the entire game. It was electric and every time he cast his eyes towards him, Aziraphale bit his lip and glanced away. It was good, this obvious attraction. Crowley could work with that.

“You’re very good at that,” Aziraphale said when Crowley finally approached him. His cheeks were pink and he kept glancing at Crowley’s mouth. “Where did you learn?”

Crowley laughed and pushed away the urge to snog him right there in the open. That would be a silly thing to do. Aziraphale was decidedly a behind-closed-doors sort of person.

“It’s more that I’ve played for a long time. I liked it when I was younger,” Crowley said with a shrug. He enjoyed how flustered Aziraphale was.

“I’ll be back, yeah? Try not to let Bee goad you into fights with my mates,” Crowley warned, mostly teasing, before heading off to the loo. It’d been a good night. He was glad he’d risked inviting Aziraphale out. Aziraphale seemed glad too.

He was washing his hands when the door creaked open.

* * *

Aziraphale slipped into the washroom and turned the lock above the handle behind him. Crowley looked up in surprise where he was drying his hands.

“Aziraphale, are you alri—”

Aziraphale didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, yanking him by his shirt against his body so he could kiss him the way he’d been thinking about all night. Crowley moaned into his mouth, immediately relaxing into the kiss like he’d been just as desperate for it.

Aziraphale pushed up the material of his shirt, to settle his hands around Crowley’s hips, letting his palm rest in the notch of them. Crowley took his moment of distraction to push him back against the door and seal their mouths back together hungrily.

Crowley broke the kiss first, mouthing over his jaw as Aziraphale kneaded the spare flesh at his hips. “I haven’t been able to think about anything but kissing you all night,” Aziraphale gasped when Crowley nipped at his neckr.

Crowley whined high in his throat, hips pushing forward, his hardness pressing into Aziraphale’s belly.

“All week, all I’ve thought about is that mouth. The way it felt on my cock. So good. I wanted to have you again. Touch you,” Aziraphale said, mind going dangerously blank as he reached between their bodies to palm Crowley’s prick. “Can I touch you?”

Crowley whined again, pushing into his hand. “You say things…”

“Do you want me to stop?” Aziraphale asked, working open the button of Crowley’s jeans.

“God, no,” Crowley gasped when Aziraphale slipped his hand into his pants. He was hot and straining against the cotton of his briefs and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched with want.

“Fuck, do you know how you looked out there?” Aziraphale said, whole body tingling as the words left him. It felt so good to see Crowley react to them. Felt good to say them. He held up his hand under Crowley’s mouth. “Spit.”

Crowley did.

Aziraphale wrapped his hand back around his cock, spit and precome now slicking the way. “I would have let you fuck me right there on the table if you’d asked.”

Crowley whimpered and then his hands were at Aziraphale’s zip. “You too. I want you to come too. Fuck, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale let Crowley tug open his trousers before he pushed Crowley’s pants down, sliding their cocks together. He looked between them, watching as Crowley rutted against him. “Look at you. You want it so badly, don’t you?”

Aziraphale found himself being kissed, Crowley fucking his mouth with his tongue as he wrapped one of his wide hands around both of their cocks. Aziraphale felt surrounded entirely, pressed against the wall, being touched exactly like he wanted, Crowley making needy, desperate noises as he brought them off together.

Even as his muscles locked, Aziraphale had the presence of mind to prevent making a mess of himself, catching his spend in his palm before he wrapped his hand around Crowley’s shaft so he could come too. It was beautiful to watch. The way his cock twitched and pulsed as he came over their hands.

Crowley cursed and collapsed against him, forearms coming to rest against the wall above Aziraphale’s shoulders. High on his orgasm and Crowley’s closeness, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his bicep where it bracketed his ear.

He plucked a paper towel from the dispenser beside him and wiped his hands off before pulling Crowley against him, pushing up his black t-shirt so he could rest his hand on his back. He tucked his head on Crowley’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of him. Oil, harsh industrial soap, and apple shampoo.

Wonderful as this had been, Aziraphale resolved to have Crowley in his bed the next time they came together. He wanted to hold him like this for hours and not briefly after what were truly incandescent handjobs in the loo of a pub.

At this angle, he could see the pale length of Crowley’s forearm, his inner elbow. The skin there looked vulnerable and Aziraphale suddenly wanted to kiss it. The urge registered in his brain at the same moment he noticed pocked pink marks along the expanse of pale skin. Scars.

Before he could ask, Crowley pulled away, kissing him once, twice and then a third lingering time that pushed all the thoughts from Aziraphale’s head.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator. I love the both of you.
> 
> CW: mentions of scars related to past drug use, negative self talk, mentions of STIs, mentions of past abusive relationship

After the evening wrapped up, Aziraphale found himself being thoroughly kissed against the driver’s side door of his car. He vaguely recalled Crowley mocking him over his preference for hot cocoa as they walked out of the pub together and then they were at Aziraphale’s car.

And now kissing.

Amazing, exuberant kissing. Crowley’s hands were at his hips, just under the hem of his sweatervest, hot palms pressed to his sides as they traded long kisses in the cool autumn air.

At some point, Crowley had taken off his sunglasses. Maybe it had been just after that first goodnight kiss, before it turned into this.They were tucked in the neck of his shirt, bumping Aziraphale's knuckles where he had fisted his hand in Crowley’s shirt.

Aziraphale carefully slipped his tongue into Crowley’s mouth, barely deepening the kiss. Crowley made a soft humming noise in the back of his throat like he was surprised but terribly pleased.

"Get a room!" 

Aziraphale jumped at the sudden voice but Crowley didn’t even move. His eyes fluttered open and his lips curled back in a snarl.

"Fuck off, Bee," he called over his shoulder. All he got in response was a dark snicker that faded away into silence.

"Sorry about that," Crowley said with an awkward smile. He was still standing so close to Aziraphale and in the moonlight, Aziraphale could see the slight iridescence of his scar.

Aziraphale settled a hand on his neck brushing his thumb over his unscarred cheek. "It's rather sweet I think. Your friends love you"

Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste but didn’t say anything, just tipped his face into Aziraphale’s hand. His hands were still on Aziraphale’s hips, warm and sure and overwhelming.

Crowley kissed him again briefly. "What would you say about coming back to mine?" 

He was so close that some of his hair tickled Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale wanted to say yes. More than anything he wanted to say yes. But he’d already put off his marking to come out tonight and if he didn’t start tomorrow, he’d only fall further behind.

"I can’t," he said with a great deal of regret. The little flirtatious smile he’d been enjoying on Crowley’s face disappeared.

Crowley stepped back abruptly. "Right."

"I just have an early start tomorrow," Aziraphale rushed to say. He didn’t like the way Crowley was shrinking, and then, because he'd always been terrible at denying himself things he wanted, he added, "but you could come back to mine?"

Crowley looked at him through his lashes, hand pausing where it was wrapped around the sunglasses in his neckline. He pulled them out and played with them, the metal arms unfolding under his hands. 

“Of course, you don’t have to. I have to wake up early and do marking and if you come to mine then I don’t have to worry about -”

Crowley kissed him. “Sure. Yours it is. I’ll meet you there?”

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting his voice. 

* * *

Crowley knocked on Aziraphale’s door, heart quivering like a bird in a cage. Was this a _come to mine, stay over if you’d like_? Crowley hoped so. He wanted to wake up next to Aziraphale, wanted to hold him, kiss him tomorrow morning.

The door opened and Aziraphale was standing there, looking irresistible without his sweatervest, top button undone. Crowley could just see the collar of his white undershirt peeking through the gap. He wanted to fist his hands in it. 

“Hello again,” Aziraphale said, eyes crinkling in delight.

Crowley ripped off his sunglasses and pushed inside, already cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissing him. 

“Hullo,” Crowley said when he pulled back to breathe.

Those sea change eyes fluttered open. “Bedroom?”

Crowley hummed in agreement and kissed him again, kicking off his boots so they could trail to the bedroom, trading long kisses before Aziraphale fumbled open the door behind him.

Aziraphale’s bedroom was exactly like Crowley had imagined, all warm toned wood, with a quilt on the bed. He had flower patterned pillow cases for god’s sake. It was perfect.

They kissed for a long moment, suspended at the side of the bed while Crowley slipped open Aziraphale’s shirt and pushed it off his arms. Aziraphale let it fall to the floor before tugging on Crowley’s t-shirt. Crowley stepped back and peeled it over his head, pushing Aziraphale back until he sat on the bed and Crowley could crawl over him.

Crowley was quickly becoming obsessed with Aziraphale’s kisses. He made little noises. Not quite the ones he made when he ate but so very close like he was pleased, like he couldn’t get enough. When he kissed, he was so enthusiastic, like he knew exactly what he wanted even as he let Crowley lead the kiss. 

When he finally had Aziraphale settled against the pillows, he sat up and reached to unbutton Aziraphale’s trousers, pulling his undershirt out of the waistband. He slipped his hand up under the cotton to palm at his stomach. 

“Take this off for me?” he asked, breath catching when he met Aziraphale’s eyes. His lips were swollen from their kissing, hair a mess of glorious cotton. He was a vision and he made Crowley ache in the most delicious ways.

Aziraphale sat up and removed his shirt. The moonlight filtering through the lacy curtains of the bedroom window made Aziraphale look ethereally pale. His chest hair was nearly white in this light. Crowley skated his hands over it, rubbing his thumb over one of Aziraphale’s nipples, feeling it pucker slightly. He leaned down and flicked his tongue over it. He cupped Aziraphale’s chest in his hands and passed one palm down between them into Aziraphale’s trousers to find him...soft.

Crowley ripped his hand away. “Shit, are you not -”

Aziraphale surged up and pushed Crowley onto his back, rolling them over. “I’m afraid with all the excitement I may be a bit...worn out,” Aziraphale said sheepishly.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Crowley said, hands falling to his sides. He didn’t want to press. He never wanted to press on something like this. 

“Perhaps I could take care of you,” Aziraphale said with a wicked grin, an expression that made Crowley’s hips twitch up unbidden. If Aziraphale wanted to touch him, he certainly wasn’t going to stop him. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get enough of Aziraphale’s touch, those soft hands, that warm gaze.

Aziraphale’s palm came to rest in Crowley’s sternum. His eye raked over Crowley’s chest hungrily. Crowley’s heart was racing and he wondered if Aziraphale could feel it under his hand.

“I’d like to take care of you. Very much.”

* * *

Crowley laid out on his quilt was perhaps the most gorgeous thing Aziraphale had ever seen. The flat plane of his chest was covered in light ginger hair that tapered down and into the waistband of his black jeans. Aziraphale trailed his knuckles over the line of it and Crowley’s muscles jumped.

His hips were small enough that Aziraphale could grasp one in his hand, thumb resting on the inner notch as his fingers wrapped around him. 

“You’re lovely,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his thumb back and forth in the shallow of Crowley’s hip.

Crowley whined in his throat and Aziraphale met his eyes, lowering his head to kiss where his thumb had been. He brushed his nose over Crowley’s side, kissing there too as he smoothed his hands over his belly, feeling the strong line of his muscles under his palms. 

Aziraphale didn’t think he had ever seen a body like Crowley’s up close. Thin shoulders, small waist. His muscles were stark under his skin, evidence of manual labor and a lifestyle Aziraphale didn't understand. They shifted with every movement, going taut under Aziraphale’s questing hand. 

If Aziraphale wanted, he thought he might be able to count his ribs, the pale shadow of them just visible above the slight concave dip of his belly. 

Crowley wasn't fit like an athlete or someone out of a film. He was spare, every inch of his body beautiful in its simplicity. Thin skin over bones that Aziraphale felt he could grasp with his hands.

He was...delicate compared to Aziraphale. His body a fine thing that Aziraphale wanted to care for. Crowley was the sort of beautiful person who could wear anything, be with anyone. And yet here he was, in Aziraphale’s bed, looking wrecked while Aziraphale explored his body with his hands.

Aziraphale popped the button to his jeans and tried to tug them off only to find them too tight to pull down around Crowley’s hips. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Aziraphale frowned. “Do you grease yourself into these?”

Crowley tossed his head back and laughed which got Aziraphale laughing too. There was something beautiful in that too, the harried lust fading for a moment as they laughed together.

Crowley sat up, still giggling, and cupped Aziraphale’s face in one wide palm, kissing away the laughter. “Let me take them off, alright?”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, the muscles in his biceps bunching as he pushed down the fabric. He made it look easy but then again, he had practice. 

Aziraphale’s mouth went dry watching Crowley’s shoulders move, muscles pulling and settling as he tossed his jeans aside, left only in tight black briefs. Without his jeans, Aziraphale could see the slight roll of his belly just above the waistband of his pants. Something about it was vulnerable. In a sea of angles here was one point of softness.

Pressing his hand to it, he pushed Crowley back against the pillows and captured his mouth. They kissed for a long moment, both smiling as they traded kisses back and forth until Crowley began to make little noises in his throat that were like shots of electricity down Aziraphale’s spine. If he were younger, he’d want to do this all night. 

He kissed his way down Crowley’s chest, hooking his fingers in his briefs to pull them off so he could take Crowley in his mouth. 

* * *

There were a lot of things Crowley had expected from Aziraphale. That he was clever, that he liked old-fashioned things. But the fact that he was an expert cocksucker was not among them. He fit his hands around Crowley’s hips, always touching him in some way as he bobbed his head, fluttering his tongue and fucking _dripping_ around Crowley’s cock. 

He’d said _let me take care of you_ and that had set off something wild in Crowley’s chest that wouldn’t settle. Needy and joyful, it was a feeling that was growing more familiar in Aziraphale’s presence. Crowley thought it might be hope. 

Aziraphale looked so gorgeous between his legs, hair wild from how much Crowley had been tugging on it. 

“Jesus,” Crowley gasped. “Look at you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes opened and met his. His hips thrust up without his permission and Aziraphale made an affirmative noise, those soft hands urging him to do it again. 

So he did, thrusting into that wet heat. He tugged on Aziraphale’s hair when he felt his orgasm began to coil inside him. “Aziraphale, I’m going to -”

Aziraphale hummed happily, and sucked him down so Crowley let his head fall back as Aziraphale brought him over the edge. Aziraphale swallowed him down before surging up the bed to kiss him again. Crowley licked the taste of his own come from Aziraphale’s mouth, chasing the bitter flavor with languid slides of his tongue that had Aziraphale whimpering against him.

When they finally parted, Aziraphale flopped onto the other side of the bed with a long sigh. He sounded happy, satisfied. Crowley’s post-orgasmic haze immediately started to fade and anxiety stole over him, chest growing tight. This was bad. He didn’t want Aziraphale to think he _expected_ anything. He slipped out of bed to find his briefs, trying very hard not to think about how much he wanted to crawl back underneath that warm quilt and fall asleep. He picked up his discarded shirt but stopped when Aziraphale said, “What are you doing?”

Crowley turned back to the bed, heart in his throat. “Getting ready to go?”

Aziraphale frowned. “You can stay. If you’d like. It’s quite late.”

The shirt dropped from Crowley’s fingers and he was pulling back the blankets before he even realized he was moving. 

Aziraphale hummed happily as Crowley settled into the bed. “I believe I may have a spare toothbrush if you’d like one.”

“That would be...nice.” A spare toothbrush. Like Crowley was welcome here. Fuck.

Aziraphale huffed and scooted closer to Crowley, wrapping one arm around him. Crowley’s eyes drifted shut as he let himself be pulled into the warmth of Aziraphale’s body, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Just as Crowley began to drift to sleep, Aziraphale grumbled, “I should get up. Take off my trousers.”

“There are no rules about sleeping with trousers on,” Crowley slurred, his whole body relaxed in Aziraphale’s arms.

“I will most certainly regret it,” Aziraphale said before retreating with a long, disgruntled groan. Crowley listened as he got out of bed followed by the rustling of fabric. 

Aziraphale moved around the bed and to the door. “I’ll leave the toothbrush beside the sink for you.”

Crowley watched his retreating back, the soft strength in the slope of his shoulders making Crowley feel safe even as he disappeared.

* * *

Aziraphale’s alarm went off at 7 AM and he groaned, rolling over to slap it off. A grumbling noise drew his attention and he rolled over to see Crowley on his back, blanket pull halfway up his bare chest as he wrinkled his face in disgust.

“‘Ziraphale?” Crowley asked, eyes fluttering as he rolled onto his side. “Too early.”

Aziraphale laughed quietly before taking his hand and pressing a short kiss to his wrist. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be in the kitchen working. Take your time.”

His eyes flickered to those pocked scars on Crowley’s inner elbow and scattered along his veins. Without wine or lust distracting him, realization slid through him. Scars like that usually meant one thing. He released Crowley’s hand and frowned.

Crowley groaned dramatically and rolled onto his stomach, face mushing into the pillow. Aziraphale left him to his grumbling, grabbing his clothes to shower and change in the bathroom. 

He flicked on the shower and scrubbed a hand over his face. Marks like that on Crowley’s arms could be anything. He was being judgmental, jumping to conclusions.

Despite telling himself that, he couldn’t shake his anxiety. If Crowley used drugs in the past then it was entirely possible they needed to use a great deal more caution in the bedroom.

Aziraphale left the shower without a better idea of what to do than when he went in. If he was going to fret about it, he would just have to ask Crowley. This was going far too well for Aziraphale to let his nerves get in the way. And maybe the answer was that those scars were from something entirely different. They certainly were faded so Aziraphale doubted Crowley was still…

Aziraphale pushed the thought away as he went through the motions of making coffee.

As it brewed, he gathered his tests, settled in at the dining room table and got to work. Marking was always a good distraction so he let himself get caught up in the tests and tried not to linger on his concerns.

He'd gotten through a good number when the sound of creaking floorboards drew his attention. Crowley had appeared and was leaning against the wall, dressed in his black shirt and briefs, one of Aziraphale’s tan cardigans around his slim shoulders.

Aziraphale nearly bit his tongue as a resounding thrill of possessiveness thrummed inside him. Crowley looked soft and sleepy and perfect. 

Whatever Crowley’s past, they would figure it out.

* * *

Aziraphale was sitting at his table and wearing cute half-moon glasses as he looked over a pile of papers in front of him. He had a miniscule frown on his face and he was utterly focused. Crowley leaned against the wall and just watched, enjoying the moment of being able to take in Aziraphale like this. He was clearly in his element and Crowley thought he’d be able to watch him for a very long time, just tracing his microexpressions, mapping them.

Aziraphale looked up and his eyes grew wide. “Is that my cardigan?”

Crowley looked at his hands, swamped by the tan knitted cardigan he had pilfered from the hook on the back of Aziraphale’s bedroom door. “No?”

Aziraphale snorted and shook his head, eyes going back to his paper. “Little thief. There’s coffee on. If you’d like.”

Coffee sounded phenomenal so Crowley puttered around the kitchen in search of mugs until Aziraphale called after him, “Cupboard’s beside the sink.”

Crowley pulled down a nondescript white mug and helped himself to some milk. He felt absurdly relaxed; happy even. He stared down at the black and white parquet under his feet and flexed his toes. This was the beginning of something good. Even if Crowley couldn’t name it yet, he knew that much.

Aziraphale appeared by his side and kissed his cheek. “Sorry. I’m all aflutter this morning. Feel free to stay as long as you like but I’ve got to work.”

Crowley turned his head and kissed Aziraphale directly on the mouth because he could. Because he wanted to.

“I’ll finish my coffee and get out of your hair. Wouldn’t want to be distracting,” Crowley said with a smirk, sneaking his hand underneath the hem of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

Aziraphale slapped his wrist. “You rude, horrid man,” he admonished but his eyes were twinkling. Crowley laughed.

“That’s not what you said yesterday at the pub,” Crowley pressed and Aziraphale’s face turned pink as he spluttered. All those dirty things in bed and now he was lost for words. Cute.

“Let me put my trousers on and I’ll be right back,” Crowley said, leaving his cup of coffee on the table.

When Crowley slipped into the seat across from Aziraphale, he was rewarded with the flicker of a smile before Aziraphale dropped his eyes back to his paper, scribbling something in the margin. Crowley smiled, content to watch and enjoy his coffee. It was only nine so he had a bit before he needed to go home and get ready to go to the garage. Bee would be around. Probably take the piss. But Crowley was feeling good enough that he’d be able to give as good as he got. 

Aziraphale finally put down his pen just as Crowley was nearly finished with his coffee. He took off his glasses and folded them before setting them atop the papers. Crowley’s good mood wavered. That looked serious. Crowley didn’t want to be serious.

“Last night,” Aziraphale began and then he paused and swallowed visibly before fixing Crowley with an expression that Crowley couldn’t read. He didn’t look angry, but it made the hair on the back of Crowley’s neck stand up. “Last night I noticed...well, I noticed some scars. On your arms. And I - I might not be entirely familiar but I do think I know what sort they are and I felt I needed to ask.”

Crowley couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. How was this supposed to happen? There was no good way to say _I used to be a drug addict. I used to be a terrible person._

No. That wasn’t true. Not a bad person. A person who made mistakes. 

He forced air into his lungs.

Aziraphale reached out and put his hand over Crowley’s where it was fisted on the table. His eyes grew soft. He didn’t look disgusted so Crowley breathed again, trying to ready himself to explain. 

Except Aziraphale kept talking. 

“I wouldn’t have asked because I thought perhaps it would be better for you to tell me in your own time. But we’re sleeping together now and I need to know if you’re clean so we can be safe about it.”

_Clean._

Crowley finally looked at Aziraphale. He wished uselessly for his glasses which he knew were somewhere in the entryway. Discarded last night. Forgotten. He couldn’t do anything about that now.

He pulled his hand away. “Right.”

Crowley stood, fingers going numb as he shrugged off Aziraphale’s cardigan, folding it over the back of the dining room chair. “Right,” he repeated, more forcefully.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, standing up fast enough that his chair scraped across the tiles.

Crowley marched into the entryway and grabbed his boots. His socks were in Aziraphale’s bedroom but he didn’t care. All he needed was his boots and his sunglasses and he would leave.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said again. “Where are you going?”

“Am I clean?” Crowley sneered, whirling on Aziraphale. “You think so low of me that you think I wouldn’t _tell_ you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes went flinty as his shoulders drew tight, chin tilting back defiantly. “That is not at all what I said. We both know the statistics. I’m trying to keep us _safe_.”

Crowley pushed his hair out of his face and closed his eyes against a rush of anger at Aziraphale’s words. 

“Just tell me,” Aziraphale said, some of the fight going out of his expression. Why did he have to look so lovely in the morning light? Why did it have to make his eyes look like the most comforting rainy day? 

“Don’t worry I didn’t get you _dirty_ ,” Crowley said as he ripped open the door.

He stepped out of Aziraphale’s house, rushing to his car and ignoring the stones digging into his bare feet because leaving was more important than shoes. 

Clean? Was he clean? 

What sort of bullshit? Like Crowley was going to put someone else at risk. Like Luc hadn’t made him prove it when they first got together. Like Crowley hadn’t gone through all those tests _again_ ages ago when he’d gotten out of rehab.

It seemed Aziraphale was just like that. _Prove to me that you’re good enough. Prove to me that you’re clean._

Crowley slammed his hands into the wheel and yelled. It didn’t do much to make him feel better, just made his palms sting and his throat ache. 

It was fucking fine. They’d known each other for a month. Crowley would get over this like he got over everything else. He’d been through worse and he’d survived that, sank his claws into life and found his way through. This was just a feeling. It would pass. 

He would go home. He would shower and he would go to work. That’s what he did. He worked. If he worked hard enough, he’d forget the grief gnawing at his insides. It was probably for the best. He shouldn’t have gotten attached anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator who made this chapter more honest
> 
> note: there was a lot of good discussion in the comments of the last chapter but because fanfiction is not necessarily a good place for education i wanted to link [this](https://www.cdc.gov/std/hiv/stdfact-std-hiv.htm) page on the CDC regarding STI facts. 
> 
> TLDR: get tested. talk to your partners about sexual health. it's hard but it's worth it.
> 
> CW: discussion of past drug use, discussion of STIs, discussion of a past emotionally abusive relationship, negative self talk

Aziraphale slumped into his 8 AM class on Monday, made the students form pairs and do exercises, and hoped that no one would ask him any questions. He had hardly slept the night before, going over his notes for his meeting with Gabriel and unable to stop playing back his conversation with Crowley

He’d ruined a good thing and of that he was certain. He’d called on Saturday night to apologize and had gotten no response. At the time he’d had no idea what he was apologizing for but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he’d started the conversation entirely incorrectly. He should have waited for Crowley to tell him in his own time and simply taken precautions of his own volition. 

So he’d called again on Sunday with a more earnest apology but had gotten his voicemail. 

After that, well, he knew when he wasn’t wanted. It had only been a month or so of them seeing each other. Hardly enough for Aziraphale to feel so heartbroken over this half-baked relationship ending. But that didn’t stop him. Not in the least.

He’d been far too busy to mope over the weekend but the minute he finished with his classes he was going to go home, pour himself a glass of wine, put on a sad record, and feel sorry for himself. Perhaps with chocolates while he thought about gorgeous red hair and a wicked grin.

Gabriel burst into his office with his usual verve and then froze when he saw Aziraphale’s face.

“You look terrible,” Gabriel said and Aziraphale had to bite his tongue not to snap at him.

“I’m not sleeping very well,” he said with an extra layer of politeness to hide the anger seething beneath the surface. 

“That’s too bad,” Gabriel said. “I hope you had some time to prepare that presentation?”

“Yes, yes. Of course,” Aziraphale said, digging out his notes. “Of course this is all preliminary but I was hoping to research the themes of appetites in Ovid’s Ceres and Proserpina.”

Gabriel’s gaze grew sharp. Much could be said about the man (and Aziraphale had said most of it), but he was quite brilliant. That’s how he’d ended up head of the department after all.

“It will obviously require consultation of various texts and translations, as well as my own translation effort.”

Gabriel nodded and listened intently while Aziraphale walked through all the information he’d gone over with Anathema. By the end of it, Aziraphale felt fairly good about his chances of approval. 

“You’ve really put a lot of thought into this,” Gabriel said when Aziraphale wrapped up. “Just the sort of thing we’re looking for in a professorship candidate. Which I’m sure you know.”

Aziraphale’s stomach tied itself into knots. He’d secretly been hoping this would boost his application, but he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it for fear of being disappointed. He’d had enough disappointment recently.

“Well, email me your proposal,” Gabriel said, slapping his hands on his knees before standing. “I’ll take it up with the Board and see what we can do to get you some help around here.”

Aziraphale stood, smiling numbly. This was fantastic news and yet he still felt the weight of his mistake Saturday morning. Crowley had looked so betrayed when Aziraphale had asked. He’d said Aziraphale had accused him of being _dirty._ That hadn’t been what Aziraphale had meant as all. He was trying to...he just wanted Crowley to trust him.

Gabriel gave Aziraphale a strangely aggressive hand shake before turning to leave just as the door slammed open.

“Hey, dickhead,” the five foot black terror that was Bee said from the doorway, baring their teeth. Aziraphale’s stomach flopped about uselessly at the sight of them.

“Who are you?” Gabriel asked curiously. Then he looked at Aziraphale and said again, “Who is this?”

Bee raised their eyebrows at Aziraphale expectantly. Next to Gabriel they looked almost comical, dressed all in black except for the flash of the red handkerchief in their hair. Gabriel on the other hand was in a neat light gray suit and purple tie. Aziraphale half expected one of them to implode by the sheer improbability of their proximity.

“This is Bee. They, uh, they own the shop where I got my car fixed,” Aziraphale explained, hoping that would do. Dread was creeping over his neck. If Bee said the wrong thing— mentioned his relationship with Crowley—this could all be over. Say goodbye to funding. Say goodbye to professorship. 

Bee bared their teeth at Gabriel. “Bee. Hellfire Auto. If you use gendered pronouns for me, I will end you.”

Gabriel’s mouth formed some complicated shapes but no actual words. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked at Aziraphale. “I’ll leave you to it.”

When he stepped through the door, Bee kicked it shut and prowled closer to Aziraphale’s desk. 

“What did you do?”

Aziraphale looked at his desk. Really, anywhere but at those terrifying black eyes. 

“Crowley won’t tell me,” Bee continued and when Aziraphale chanced a glance at them, their nostrils were flared. “So you’re going to.”

Aziraphale sniffed delicately and tried to gather himself. "I believe that if Crowley won’t tell you, then I should respect that."

Aziraphale had no idea a person so small could be so intimidating but Bee just continued to stare at him. Aziraphale could hear the sounds of construction on the building across the quad, machines clicking on and off.

"Remember that night we met at the Four Horsemen," Bee said, crossing their thin arms over their chest.

Aziraphale vaguely recalled Bee’s generally threatening aura before he had exchanged jokes with Crowley about ghosts. 

"I said: don’t be an arsehole. Are you too stupid to take advice? That much of a prick?"

Aziraphale swallowed around his tongue which suddenly felt very thick

It was an unfortunately accurate assessment. He had been an arsehole. 

Bee leaned forward, one hand coming down flat on Aziraphale’s desk. "I don't know what Crowley’s told you about where he comes from but in Tadfield, I take care of him. And if that means harassing people who break him then that's what I do.”

Aziraphales heart gave out, taken out at the legs. Crowley wasn't broken. And Aziraphale hadn't broken him. 

"What. Happened." Bee said again. Aziraphale couldn't tell their age. Every time they had met, Aziraphale had thought they were in their forties like him and Crowley but this close, they looked quite young.

Aziraphale shifted in his seat. Picked up his pencil. Put it down. "Crowley has scars on his arms."

Bee raised an eyebrow as if to say _duh_. 

"I asked about them." Oh dear, Aziraphale thought he might cry. All he could see was the twist of Crowley’s mouth when he said he needed to know if Crowley was clean.

"Too good for a _junkie_ then?" Bee said, putting Aziraphale in mind of a black cat, back arched, hackles raised.

"No," Aziraphale rushed to say. "No," he repeated, more firmly. "I liked—I like Crowley regardless of his past but such things...they do have impacts and I didn’t want us to do something we couldn’t recover from."

"What does that mean?"

"I asked if he’d been tested," Aziraphale admitted, feeling smaller by the second. Bee’s teeth made an appearance, sharp and terrifying. “I was afraid! And I handled it terribly.”

Bee jerked back and then threw themself into a seat, leaning forward menacingly. "Apologize."

"I tried! I called," Aziraphale said before groaning and rubbing at his eyes. "I'm sorry. I - I hardly know you. I'm trying to move forward and if Crowley doesn’t want me in his life because I, well, because I spoke in error then I'd like to respect that. You should as well."

Aziraphales insides twisted together as he spoke, heart in the vicinity of his liver as his stomach crawled through his lungs.

Bee cocked their head and stared again. “Right.”

The tone of it, the angle of their head, it was so like Crowley when he’d recoiled from Aziraphale on Saturday that Aziraphale nearly choked.

“Do what you want,” Bee said, ripping open the door. They paused before they stepped through. “You say it’s only been four weeks but Crowley likes you. He doesn’t do that very often. Maybe think about that before you toss him aside.”

Then Bee was gone, leaving Aziraphale to stare at his desk and feel faintly sick.

* * *

Crowley was fine. He was fine as evidenced by the nearly complete puzzle on his breakfast bar and the lasagna he was currently making. 

The night before he had made chocolate lava cakes and tried not to think about the fact that he had purchased the ingredients to make them for Aziraphale. He’d eaten one and thrown the rest out. He’d never had much of a sweet tooth and just looking at them made his stomach ache.

He stirred the bechamel sauce on the stove, letting the heat relax him. When he’d gone into work after his disastrous conversation with Aziraphale, Bee had taken one look at his face and handed him a task list. He took it gratefully and worked until the sun set, long after he should have and long after Bee had left. And that’s what he’d done for the last five days. Go to work early. Stay late. Come home and distract yourself. He knew it would pass but it was exhausting to keep himself afloat.

His body was sore and tired from overwork and lack of sleep but it kept his mind off the memory of Aziraphale’s words. 

_I need to know if you’re clean._

Crowley would never be clean. He might have a piece of paper that said otherwise but Aziraphale looked at him and doubted. Aziraphale saw something dirty. Which made perfect sense in the end. 

The oven beeped and Crowley chided himself. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Old habits. _Old habits._

Aziraphale’s concerns had been reasonable even if he’d been an arse. And he had been. Jumping to conclusions, accusing Crowley. It didn’t matter. Aziraphale had been an arse and Crowley had overreacted. End of story.

Taking the sauce off the heat, he finished layering the lasagna, mind going miraculously blank.

Just as he closed the oven door, his phone buzzed on the counter. When he picked it up, he saw Aziraphale’s name on the screen. His heart lurched uncomfortably, happiness swiftly overtaken by hurt. 

It wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had called. Saturday first and then a message on Sunday. Crowley hadn’t listened to it. He’d been too angry. He didn’t know if it was worth answering now so he silenced his ringer and set it back down, collapsing onto his kitchen stool with a sigh. His shoulders were tight and his hips ached from all the work he’d been doing. He wanted to sleep for a week but sleep continued to be difficult to come by.

He was headed into the dangerous territory where numbness was beginning to take over. His head was fuzzy and the sharp edges of his feelings were dulled. It was what he wanted but he needed to be careful with it. He knew it was a way to cope but the voice of every therapist he'd ever had was telling him there had to be a better way.

Probably a scalding shower and laying the fuck down. Sleep be damned.

When a knock sounded at the door, he groaned and heaved himself out of the chair. He’d honestly been expecting this. Bee had been staring at him harshly for days and he had just been waiting for them to make an appearance and look at him with angry disappointment as they told him to take better care of himself.

He creaked open the door, letting most of his weight lean against it. “Look, Bee...” he said and then all of his words withered because Aziraphale was standing on his landing, wringing his hands.

He was wearing an actual jumper, probably a concession to the colder weather. It was tan and hugged his figure, the color offset by a hunter green bow tie settled beneath that chin Crowley didn’t think he would forget for the rest of his god-given existence.

“I’m so sorry to impose but you wouldn’t answer my calls,” Aziraphale said, words rushing together like they were fighting to leave his mouth. “And I wanted to apologize to you. More than anything, I just wanted to apologize.”

Crowley had felt tired before Aziraphale had appeared at his door, but now he felt exhausted, scraped down to the bone. He could slam the door in his face, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to fall against Aziraphales chest and beg for forgiveness. He ground his teeth. Maybe he had gotten a bit too angry. Maybe he shouldn’t have stormed out. But he wasn’t about to apologize for having feelings. He did that for years with Luc and he was done with that.

“Come in then,” Crowley said tightly, retreating and leaving the door open for Aziraphale to enter. He didn’t want to have this conversation on the stoop. He snagged his glasses from the sideboard and slipped them on.

He’d let Aziraphale say his piece, tell him it was fine, and then let Aziraphale trundle back out of his life. Seemed the smart thing to do if he wanted to put this awful hungry feeling to bed.

Aziraphale hesitated before stepping over the threshold. “I brought you your boots. And socks,” Aziraphale said, holding up a canvas bag before he set it down by the wall.

If that was it then Aziraphale could go. But apparently there was more.

“I called,” Aziraphale said carefully. “Just to see if you were home.”

Crowley hummed and gestured for him to have a seat in the living room. They could have this conversation standing up but if Aziraphale was going to monologue his way through an apology, Crowley wanted to be sitting down for it. He was so fucking tired. 

Maybe if he wasn’t so tired he could feel something. Maybe anger at Aziraphale. Maybe hope that this meant something. It was probably better not to. In the end.

Aziraphale sat down on the far cushion, looking prim as ever, and Crowley dropped on the other side, waiting. 

_It’ll be over soon and then you can eat your lasagna and go to sleep._

“Thank you. For letting me come in,” Aziraphale began and then he bit his lip. A long pause that grated over Crowley's nerves. Not so numb then. 

“Bee came and spoke to me on Monday."

Crowley sighed and closed his eyes. Of course Bee had done that. They'd never been good at leaving well enough alone.

"Sorry," Crowley said for lack of something better. "I'll tell them not to bother you."

Aziraphale visibly flinched and then took a deep breath. "That's not—I'm glad they did. I was making excuses not to come apologize in person, telling myself you wouldn't want to see me. But they helped me realize I had to try. That it was worth trying."

Crowley stared at him. Big talk that. Like Aziraphale cared. The nerves wormed through his heart and he tried to tamp them down. "You said they came by Monday?"

"Yes," Aziraphale said, that fetching wrinkle appearing between his eyes like he was confused.

"It's Wednesday."

Aziraphale had the decency to look shamefaced. "I spent a great deal of time thinking and feeling sorry for myself. Today I realized neither of those things would actually change anything."

Crowley didn't say anything and Aziraphale looked away before squaring his shoulders and turning to face Crowley fully.

"Crowley,” Aziraphale began, face going soft and eyes shining. “You’re a good person and anything I did to imply differently was not my intention. I handled an important conversation poorly and I am sorry. If you give me the opportunity, I will endeavor to not do so moving forward but I understand if you would prefer not to see me again.”

"Thank you for letting me apologize," Aziraphale said sadly. "If you—if you want to talk, you know my number."

Clearing his throat, Aziraphale stood and brushed off his pants, a nervous habit. He gave Crowley a curt nod even as his lip trembled.

He looked about two seconds from leaving and Crowley…

“Do you remember that ex I told you about?” Crowley said before he could stop himself. Aziraphale had handled their conversation on Saturday poorly but Crowley had played his own part by overreacting. They needed to have this conversation. Crowley had to explain. He had to. If he didnt this would happen over and over again because Aziraphale would be walking into his life blind. How could he avoid a misstep if he didn't know where the pits were, the spikes?

Aziraphale froze. Nodded.

“When we—” Crowley swallowed around the lump steadily growing in his throat. He scraped one nail over the seam in his jeans, grounding himself. “When we first got together he made me get tested. Said I needed to prove it. He made me get tested every six months and I did because he said it was for my own good. For my own safety. Our safety. I was in a bad way and I believed whatever he told me. But it’s a sensitive—I don’t like talking about it. And it—the way you asked wasn’t...it wasn’t good.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, dropping onto the couch heavily. “No. It really wasn’t. I am so sorry.”

Crowley shrugged, something in his chest unfurling. He’d felt so heavy all week, like he’d been walking underwater. And now he could breathe.

“I was going to tell you,” Crowley said, staring at his hands. His cuticles were dirty, nails chipped. “Didn’t know where to start.”

They sat silently for a long moment and when Crowley finally looked up at Aziraphale he was regarding him with an open expression that cut right into Crowley’s heart. He did fucking trust him and wasn’t that a trip.

“How did you tell your other partners?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “Perhaps you could start there.”

Crowley closed his eyes against the flood of anxiety at Aziraphale’s words. Like picking through a bloody minefield. “I haven’t had any partners who didn’t already know. Or who stuck around for more than a night.”

Aziraphale lifted his hand as if he was about to reach for Crowley and then stopped himself. "Take as much time as you need. If you want to tell me, I'm listening," Aziraphale said with a gentleness that was Crowley's undoing.

 _Rip the bandaid off._

“I used to be a drug addict,” Crowley said, still staring at his hands. He’d look Aziraphale in the eye after it was done. When this felt less like a gutting. 

He’d done this before. Told this story at NA and then at rehab. So what if he was shaking? Maybe he didn’t have to say all of it. Nothing about the scar on his cheek or the stranglehold Luc had had on his life. Truths but not too many.

“Heroin. Tried to get sober after awhile but it wasn’t - NA didn’t stick. All that stuff about God.” Crowley scowled. He still hated thinking about those meetings. “Got into a bad relationship after that. Met Bee. They got me into actual rehab. Which...got me here.”

“Is it alright if I say that I’m sorry that happened to you?” Aziraphale asked softly and Crowley snorted bitterly.

“Doesn’t do much but it doesn’t hurt,” Crowley said wryly. He remembered those first sessions at the clinic, the baring of his soul to one therapist after another. This didn’t feel quite like that. It hurt in a different way. Right beneath his ribs, a sting sharp as a knife. He didn’t feel raw. He felt wrecked.

Aziraphale moved closer, leg brushing his. “I’m sorry I pressed you into telling me. It wasn’t... Even if the situation was different, I still want this. We can be safe about things regardless of test results.”

Crowley stared at the place where their knees touched. His ribs were still aching. “Aziraphale, that’s—”

The oven went off and they both jumped, Aziraphale’s head whipping around to stare into the kitchen. 

“Sorry, sorry. I was making lasagna,” Crowley explained, going into the kitchen to turn off the timer. He hesitated. Aziraphale was here. Crowley wanted him here. He'd tossed out his filth and Aziraphale had looked at him softly and tried to understand. Crowley could work with that. 

“There’s plenty. If you’d like to stay.”

Aziraphale appeared in the archway that led into the kitchen. He was smiling and Crowley’s heart hurt in a new way. A good way.

“Of course I would.”

* * *

Crowley was moving around his kitchen with more of that easy efficiency that made Aziraphale want to touch him. But there was a boundary there now, one he had made with his careless words. 

But Crowley had invited him to stay. Against all odds Crowley seemed willing to forgive him and Aziraphale couldn’t believe his luck.

“So, lasagna,” Aziraphale said, sliding into one of the kitchen chairs to watch as Crowley filled his own water glass, leaving the pan to cool on the stovetop. “Are the noodles from scratch?”

“Nah,” Crowley admitted, taking a seat opposite him. All of his hair was down and it curled at the ends, tips kissing the underside of his chin. It was a lovely effect and Aziraphale wanted to reach out and tuck one of those curls behind his ear. 

He was wearing that gray henley again, the fabric of it hugging the thin muscles of his chest that Aziraphale had now felt beneath his hands. He’d seen every inch of Crowley, the angles and notches, the shadows and lines. The top buttons of Crowley’s shirt were undone, falling open so Aziraphale could see the cup of his collarbone at the base of his neck. 

“How was your presentation?” Crowley asked, breaking the silence and surprising Aziraphale enough that he had to pull himself together to answer. For a moment, he didn’t remember what Crowley was talking about.

“Oh, yes, it went—well, it went well,” Aziraphale said.

“What was it on?” Crowley asked. He was running his fingers over the sides of his glass and not looking at Aziraphale, kitchen lights reflecting off the lenses of his sunglasses. The light emphasized the shadow of his jaw, making him look harsher than normal. Aziraphale wanted to ease those tight lines, make him look soft again.

"I'm requesting funding for a research assistant. I'm trying to write a paper. Or perhaps a book if research goes well."

Crowley cocked his head and one of his dimples appeared as he gave Aziraphale an amused smile. "Have you written any books before?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "No, unfortunately. But I've published several papers. I feel I'm still working up to it."

"Did you get the funding then?" Crowley asked as he moved to the stove, cutting into the lasagne.

"I'm not sure yet," Aziraphale admitted, some of the stress he felt when he thought about Gabriel settling back over his shoulders.

"I bet you'll get it. You're brilliant. Be silly if they didn't see that."

Aziraphale felt a fluttering in his belly at Crowley’s easy reassurance.

"I wish that were true," Aziraphale said demurely as Crowley placed a plate in front of him. "Alas the machinations of a university sometimes prevent even the best laid plans."

Crowley gave him a doubtful look, mouth turned down slightly. He really was the most expressive man. It was enchanting.

It wasn’t as easy a dinner as their first, but they slipped into banter towards the end as they both relaxed. Aziraphale basked in the way Crowley made him feel. Like they had known each other for a long time. 

"You don’t know how to make a basic white sauce," Crowley said incredulously and Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh.

"I told you I'm hopeless in the kitchen," Aziraphale pointed out as Crowley groaned dramatically. 

Crowley shook his head, seemingly fond, as he gathered their plates and put them in the sink. He stood at the counter and let out a quiet hiss of pain as he rolled his shoulders.

"Are you alright?" Aziraphale asked, shooting to his feet.

Crowley waved him off. “Yeah, just overdoing it at work I think,” he said, still rolling his shoulder and wrinkling his nose in discomfort.

“Well, stop doing _that_ if it hurts,” Aziraphale said, grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him back to the chair. “Let me get you some paracetamol, and then maybe I could—”

He broke off, realizing he was going to say _rub your shoulders_ which might be crossing the line that had formed once more between them. 

He steeled himself and said it anyway. “Perhaps I could rub your shoulders. If you think that would help.”

Crowley’s eyebrows drew together and he frowned. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Aziraphale said primly. He put his hand on Crowley’s back, feeling the firm pull of muscles under his shirt. 

Crowley shrugged and then winced again. “Yeah, alright.”

Aziraphale fetched paracetamol from the medicine cabinet—firmly not snooping—and returned quickly, passing the bottle to Crowley.

An awkward moment passed before Crowley turned in the kitchen chair, giving Aziraphale a view of his slim back, the pull of his cotton shirt over strong shoulders. Aziraphale swallowed.

“Could I put your hair up?” Aziraphale asked, holding up the hair elastic he had pilfered from the container on the side of the sink.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Crowley said finally, head tipping forward as if to give Aziraphale access. Aziraphale watched as Crowley slipped off his glasses, cradling them in his lap.

Holding his breath, Aziraphale scooped up the long strands. He had the strangest urge to braid them even though he didn’t know how. Maybe he’d learn. 

He carefully pulled them into the elastic, taking his hands back with regret. Crowley hummed. “You’ve got nice hands, you know,” he said and Aziraphale was thankful he was facing away because then he couldn’t see how fiercely Aziraphale was blushing.

“Thank you,” he said simply, heart racing. He cradled Crowley’s neck in his palms, rubbing his thumbs in circles over his nape. He had swirls of downy crimson hair that curled over the skin there, so soft under his fingers.

When Aziraphale pressed his thumbs into his skin more firmly, Crowley hummed again, this time sharper. Just at the base of his neck, Crowley had a freckle that Aziraphale wanted to kiss. Instead, he ran his thumb over it as he pressed the heel of his hand into Crowley’s shoulder, kneading into the muscle.

Crowley groaned, a sound that made Aziraphale’s stomach clench with arousal. He pointedly ignored it. He hadn’t come here to get Crowley into bed. Honestly, it was nice to simply touch him like this, be close enough to feel the heat of him.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Aziraphale asked, running one hand down Crowley’s back to press into the muscle beneath his shoulder blade. Crowley’s shoulders rolled forward, causing the fabric of his shirt to tighten over his back. The thin material of the henley left very little to the imagination and left Aziraphale awash in a sudden swell of _want_. Perhaps this had been a terrible idea.

“No,” Crowley said, voice tight enough that Aziraphale wondered if he was just as affected by their proximity. By Aziraphale’s touch. 

Aziraphale spread his hands over the expanse of Crowley’s back, rubbing his thumbs into the line of his spine. Crowley huffed and hummed through it so Aziraphale tried to do what felt good, honored that he was even being allowed this.

Letting his hand rest on Crowley’s shoulder, Aziraphale paused. “Is that a bit better?”

Crowley was silent and then moved his hand to cover Aziraphale’s. His palms were so large compared to Aziraphale’s, fingers longer. He turned his head and a few tendrils of hair fell into his face as he looked up at Aziraphale. 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said, breathless as he searched Crowley’s expression. His eyes were golden in the harsh light and the expression in them made Aziraphale’s stomach skip.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale leaned down and brought their mouths together carefully, sighing into it. He thought he would never get to do this again.

* * *

Aziraphale was being too careful, too delicate. How could he be so put together when he’d just had his hands on Crowley for an excruciating half an hour?

Crowley had been hard since Aziraphale had run his hands through his hair. He’d had goosebumps since the first touch of Aziraphale’s hands on his neck. He’d wanted to kiss him since he’d stepped into Crowley’s flat. How he’d controlled himself, he had no idea.

Spinning the chair so he could face Aziraphale, he leaned up into the kiss, flicking his tongue over Aziraphale’s bottom lip. Fuck. This was so good. Why had he thought he should move on? He should have fought tooth and nail for this indescribable thing. 

Aziraphale was still holding him carefully, hand resting on his shoulder, cradling his neck. It wasn’t enough so Crowley fisted his hands in Aziraphale’s jumper and tugged him close, slipping his tongue into his mouth.

Aziraphale whimpered and _now_ Crowley was being kissed, Aziraphale pushing between his legs and tipping his head back to deepen the kiss. Crowley moaned around his tongue as it swiped over the roof of his mouth.

Pushing his hands under Aziraphale’s sweater, Crowley caressed his stomach before grasping his hips to pull him impossibly closer. If he wanted, Crowley could wrap his legs around Azirphale’s hips. The thought made his cock pulse in his trousers. 

Aziraphale pulled away first, hands still cupping Crowley’s jaw as he tried to catch his breath. 

“You are so unbelievably gorgeous,” Aziraphale said. His eyes were gray and disbelieving and Crowley thought he might be willing to rip his own heart out of his chest and hand it to him. 

“You should see you,” Crowley said, embarrassingly breathless. He thumbed the place where Aziraphale’s braces connected to his trousers underneath his jumper. He wanted to tear off that jumper and just look at him. “So sodding bright. You glow.”

Aziraphale frowned and Crowley didn’t like it the doubt in it so he pulled him back down into a kiss. He tugged on the elastic of his braces so he could stand and push him against the counter.

Aziraphale made a noise of surprise and pulled away. “Perhaps this is too fast,” he said in a rush and Crowley froze.

He took a hurried step back. “Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Aziraphale took one of his hands and tugged until Crowley drifted closer. He lifted Crowley’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, making his stomach flutter. 

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale said, pulling him slowly into the circle of his arms. He was warm. “I just think that, after what happened, going slow might be good. For both of us.”

Of course Aziraphale wanted to go slow. Here was Crowley yanking them back to where they had been before without considering anything. He needed to be reasonable about this.

Fuck, he didn’t want to go slow. He wanted to crowd Aziraphale against the worktop and make love to him, press his nose into the softness of his chin and kiss and kiss and kiss. 

He took a deep breath and stepped away. “Alright.”

Aziraphale straightened his jumper. “Perhaps I should go. Before we get...carried away.”

“Right, yeah,” Crowley said, words stuck on the back of his tongue. Maybe slow was good. Maybe slow meant dating and falling in love and being properly together.

As much as Crowley wanted that, he also wanted to lay Aziraphale out on his bed, run his hands over the swell of his belly, take him in his mouth and make him _scream_.

“Let me just -” Crowley moved to the door and held it open. When Aziraphale passed by him, Crowley felt the ghost of his heat.

“Will I get to see you this weekend?” Aziraphale asked, pausing on the threshold. 

“I haven’t got anything on,” Crowley said as a smile overtook his face. He wished Aziraphale would stay, but, another date? That was good too.

“Let’s do something Saturday evening. My place?” Aziraphale offered and Crowley nodded, full on grinning now. Thankfully, Aziraphale grinned back.

After Aziraphale left, Crowley went into the kitchen to wash the dishes and put away dinner. He felt lighter than he had all week. Nothing had been ruined. Aziraphale still wanted him. And yeah, they were going slow but slow was better than nothing—

Someone knocked on the door and when Crowley opened it, he frowned in confusion. “Aziraphale? Did you forget someth—”

“I don’t want to go slow,” Aziraphale said, pushing back inside and kissing every question from his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and supporting this fic! there may be a short delay on the next chapter (i.e. i actually stick to my weekly posting schedule) but I didn't want to leave the fic on the previous note. yay for emotional honesty!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by LoudAlligator and Seekwill. Tough chapter all around.
> 
> CW: descriptions of emotionally abusive behavior, one instance of recounted physical abuse, discussions of drug use
> 
> shout out to romcom discord for weighing in on the sexiness of sock garters

Aziraphale crowded him back against the sideboard, tongue already hot in his mouth as Crowley tried to piece together what was happening.

The door was open behind him, cool air sliding inside but it didn’t matter because Aziraphales body was warm against his.

"Tell me if you want me to slow down," Aziraphale said, barely pulling away to ask as their breath mingled between them, a whisper as cold fall air surrounded them.

"No fucking way," Crowley said, pressing back into the kiss, fumbling behind Aziraphale to push the door shut. He wanted to be warm.

Aziraphale’s hands were under his henley, settling at the base of his spine, fingers barely dipping under his waistband. Crowley felt like putty in Aziraphale’s hands. Melted entirely into the floor, to be scraped up later.

"Take me to bed, Crowley," Aziraphale said, nuzzling over his chin in a way that made Crowley’s heart go off like fireworks. 

Even through that sparking feeling, Crowley felt a sharp pang of fear. _Are you clean?_

He pulled away abruptly, breathing hard, only to see Aziraphale’s brow furrow, hands already out to touch and soothe. 

“Condoms,” Crowley said, unable to stop himself from twisting his hand in Aziraphale’s jumper. He just wanted to be touching him. He wanted him naked. “I don’t have any condoms”

Aziraphale’s expression softened before pulling Crowley forcibly against his body and kissing him harshly. “There are so many other things we can do. You’ve been so good to me.”

Crowley pressed his hips against his, trying to find some friction as Aziraphale’s words made his legs go all wobbly. 

Aziraphale nuzzled his neck, letting Crowley push him back towards the bedroom. "I think I’d like you to fuck my thighs. Would you like that? I bet you’d make the loveliest noises,” Aziraphale said, making Crowley stumble. Aziraphale’s _thighs_. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. They were so sweet and full and soft. 

He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and said, "Bedroom. Now."

Aziraphale giggled—an entirely incongruous sound compared to the filthy things he was saying. It was adorable and somehow made Crowley want him even more.

From there it was the drag of hands and stumbling of feet through the dark hallway before Crowley fumbled on the light in his bedroom.

"Should we...that's a bit bright.." Aziraphale said, withdrawing in a way that made Crowley’s heart hurt. He looked like he thought they _should_ have sex in the dark.

He hated that idea. He wanted to see every inch of Aziraphale. “I can turn off the overhead but...bedside lamp?” Crowley offered. Hesitating before he added, “I want to see you.”

Aziraphale looked dumbstruck and then he nodded slowly. All the go-ahead Crowley needed really, flicking off the light before going to his side table to click on the lamp.

The warmer light suited Aziraphale, but Crowley was finding most things did. It softened him even more and Crowley couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to get under that jumper, tear off that bow tie. He crossed the room and kissed Aziraphale hungrily, moaning into his mouth. How could he want someone so much? It had barely been a week but Crowley felt as if he hadn’t been touched in years.

Aziraphale seemed just as caught up, hands moving over Crowley’s body like they couldn’t decide where to settle.

Crowley rucked up the hem of Aziraphale’s jumper, happy to see Aziraphale pull it over his head, leaving his blonde hair even more wild.

He had those devastating black braces on. Crowley wondered if he’d ever get over the way they made Aziraphale’s body look. Strong and soft all at once. Old fashioned and handsome. Ridiculously handsome.

He wrapped his hands in the straps, tracing his fingers under them and sucking in a breath.

Aziraphale’s hand went to his bow tie and they were shaking as he undid the knot and then the button underneath. 

It was the column of his throat that undid Crowley, the proud pale length of it. It was seeing the way his Adam's apple bobbed under the ghost of his stubble, vulnerable and masculine. Then Aziraphale looked down, chin dipping, growing soft beneath his jaw and Crowley just had to kiss his neck. He fell against him, licking over his pulse point, inhaling the spice of his cologne. It was acrid on his tongue but underneath that was a soft smell that Crowley knew he’d never experience anywhere but here. He’d find it in no bottles or any store. It was Aziraphale’s smell, warm and arousing. If something could smell like comfort, Aziraphale did.

Aziraphale’s hands sank into his hair just enough to pull him back and into another kiss, messy and with no finesse. It shut off whatever romantic notions Crowley had been lost in, forcing his body to lead. He pushed Aziraphale’s braces off his shoulders and undid the buttons of his trousers, sliding them down so they fell around his ankles.

Crowley pulled back to tear his shirt over his head as Aziraphale kicked off his trousers. It was then that Crowley saw Aziraphale’s socks and he froze.

Long and black, they hugged the strong curve of his calf. But that wasn’t what drew Crowley’s attention. No. It was the suspenders. Clipped into the tops of the socks, they rose up to a black strap that encircled the top of Aziraphale’s calf.

Crowley had to touch them.

He pushed Aziraphale back onto the bed, disregarding the fact that Aziraphale was still in his shirt and Crowley hadn’t even taken off his jeans.

Crowley could see the thick line of Aziraphale’s cock through his green tartan boxers and it should have distracted Crowley but he could only focus on one thing.

Sock suspenders

Maybe he had a strap kink.

"What the fuck are these?" Crowley asked, sinking back on his legs to run his hands over Aziraphale’s calves, plucking at the elastic.

Aziraphale rose up on his elbows, brow furrowed. "My socks tend to fall down. It’s awfully frustrating."

Crowley made a noise in his throat that he knew was a whine but he refused to categorize it. Instead he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the inside of Aziraphale’s knee, earning a gasp. 

"They are stupidly sexy," Crowley said, sitting up so he could run his hands over the straps and up over Aziraphale’s thighs. He had ridiculously soft leg hair, dark blonde and tickling at Crowley’s knuckles, as he brushed them over the sensitive skin between his legs.

"I didn’t know you liked feet so much," Aziraphale said wryly and when Crowley looked at him he had that one expression on his face. The bastard one. The _I'm mocking you but you could never prove it_ one.

"Don’t like feet. Like _your_ feet," Crowley said even as he stared at the the black fabric of his socks. Aziraphale did have nice ankles, delicate things. 

"If you're quite done, I'd like you to come up here and fuck me," Aziraphale said.

Crowley definitely did whine then.

* * *

Aziraphale couldn’t believe he thought they'd go slow. Why would they go slow when they could have this? 

Crowley had wriggled out of his jeans and produced lube from some location Aziraphale hadn’t noticed. He’d been distracted by the pull of Crowley’s skin over his shoulders as he moved and then he was kissing over his stomach and dragging his teeth over Aziraphale’s hips as he pulled down his drawers.

“Are we leaving the socks on then?” Aziraphale asked, unable to resist teasing him a bit. Crowley had looked like Aziraphale had hit him over the head when he’d first taken off his trousers and it had been terribly flattering. The expression had gone a long way to assuaging Aziraphale’s nerves about being fully nude.

“If you’d let me,” Crowley said, as he skated one hand over Aziraphale’s knee so he could finger the top of his sock. It tickled slightly, sending pleasant shivers over Aziraphale.

Aziraphale squirmed under the attention but didn’t complain when Crowley moved them so he could fold against Aziraphale’s back. He pressed long open-mouthed kisses all over his shoulders. “These shoulders. This back,” Crowley said, dragging his tongue down over Aziraphale’s spine.

Cock aching more with every touch of Crowley’s mouth on his skin, Aziraphale wrapped his hand around himself loosely to get some relief. Crowley knocked his hand away immediately only to replace it with his own. Aziraphale shook under the pleasure of it, back arching as his nerves quaked under Crowley’s attentions. 

When Crowley’s cock brushed against his backside, it was slick and hot, sending a thrill of excitement through Aziraphale. Someday soon Crowley would fuck him in earnest. 

Crowley released his cock and ran his hand down over Aziraphale’s thigh, fingers curling around his knee to part them. 

“There you go, angel,” Crowley said, slipping between his thighs, his cock nudging at his balls as he pushed Aziraphale’s thighs back together.

Crowley thrust experimentally and let out a guttering groan. His sharp hips dug into Aziraphale’s buttocks as his cock scraped over his perineum. It felt so good to have Crowley draped over him, the hard planes of his chest pressed against his back. 

One of Crowley’s arms found its way under his body, palm coming flat to his sternum as if to hold him closer. 

“Slick my hand,” Crowley gasped between thrusts, the bottle of lube making an appearance as it flopped to the bed in front of Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale complied hastily and then Crowley’s other hand was on him, slick and warm and Aziraphale couldn’t help but thrust into his fist. 

Crowley’s cock was hard between his legs, sliding against the most sensitive parts of him as Crowley took him apart with those gorgeous hands. It was amazing.

Aziraphale flexed his thighs and Crowley groaned behind him, hand faltering on his prick before picking up speed. He thumbed over the head the way Aziraphale liked, making Aziraphale’s hips stutter as he gasped Crowley’s name.

Crowley’s teeth sank into his shoulder and he felt the hot pulse of Crowley coming between his legs. Aziraphale twisted around to kiss him, unable to get a good angle for anything but a sloppy meeting of lips.

He let his hand join Crowley’s and then he was coming too, spine curling as he spent into their fists.

They laid there like that, sticky and breathing hard, as they both recovered. Finally, Crowley rolled onto his back with a dramatic groan that Aziraphale was beginning to associate with him. It was cute and very irritating. Which was sort of just Crowley.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, Aziraphale plucked a tissue from the box on the nightstand and did his best to wipe off his hand and thighs before his trip to the bathroom. "I’ll just go clean up."

Crowley made a few unintelligible sounds that Aziraphale thought might be in protest but Aziraphale ignored him, rolling out of bed and padding to the bathroom. He found washcloths in the small closet behind the door and plucked one out, wetting it with lukewarm water before returning to the bedroom.

Crowley was staring at the ceiling when Aziraphal returned, still splayed out naked atop the coverlet. Aziraphale wanted to curl up next to him and have this whole horrid question he’d brought up put to bed.

Aziraphale laid down next to him and rolled onto his side, letting his fingers come to rest in the crook of Crowley’s elbow, just above his scars. “You know the last time I got tested was before my last partner. Three years ago now,” he said quietly.

Crowley lolled his head to look at him.

Aziraphale gave him a supportive smile that he needed as much as he thought Crowley might. This would be fine. "I was thinking we could get tested together."

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, an even more comical expression without his sunglasses to hide his eyes. "What?"

"It was unfair of me to ask you without even considering my own status. We can do it together! Think about it," Aziraphale said, scooting closer and idly wishing he’d gotten under the covers so he’d feel less bare. "We could make a day of it. Go to the clinic. Then maybe lunch. A little treat because we’ve gotten our blood drawn."

Crowley stared at him and then his face crumpled, eyebrows drawing close as his eyes slammed shut. He sucked in a breath. "Fuck."

"Bad idea then?" Aziraphale asked carefully, trying to push through the fear trying to wriggle its way to the surface of his mind.

"No," Crowley said, rolling onto his side and grabbing Aziraphale’s hand fiercely. "Great idea. Bloody fantastic idea. Let's do it."

Confused but pleased, Aziraphale let Crowley kiss him, a bit too far on the side of desperate for Aziraphale to pretend the conversation was at all over.

He pulled back and brushed his knuckles over Crowley’s cheekbone. "You don’t have to say yes, you know."

Crowley nodded but his eyes slipped shut again, teeth grinding. "I know."

Aziraphale ran his fingers over the lines on Crowley's forehead, deep wrinkles from years of smiles and frowns. All of those mesmerizing expressions etched into his skin.

"Let's get under the covers, hm?" Aziraphale said, moving up so he could wiggle between the sheets. They felt wonderful against his chilled skin.

Crowley slipped in beside him, eyes distant as he rolled onto his side to look at him. One hand was tucked under his cheek, making him look very young.

"You're very handsome," Aziraphale said because he couldn’t hold in the thought for a moment longer.

Crowley blinked slowly, a bit like a cat deciding if it could trust you. "Me?"

Aziraphale nodded and placed his hand on the flat of Crowley's collarbone. "That first day. I noticed your hair. Your face. I thought I was so obvious in my attraction to you."

Crowley's gaze lowered until his lashes shadowed his cheeks. This close Aziraphale could see the freckles on his nose, the slight pocks of his scar. It was so small and yet Crowley was terrified of it.

"Like my hair, do you?" Crowley asked, one corner of his mouth pulling back in a smirk. 

Aziraphale's ears grew hot. "It’s very you."

Crowley kissed him briefly, their noses brushing for the slightest moment before he settled back on the pillow.

"That's what I think about your hair. Downright obsessed with it."

Aziraphales heart stuttered. "My hair?"

Crowley threaded his fingers in it. "Soft as clouds, you know."

Aziraphale pushed into his palm absently so Crowley kept petting his hair.

"Aziraphale," Crowley said quietly and Aziraphale realized he’d been staring, lost in thought.

"I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. On Saturday," Crowley said and Aziraphale's heart froze in his chest.

What was Crowley doing apologizing?

"You don't need to apolo—"

"I do," Crowley said, jaw going tight again and then he let out a frustrated sigh, rolling onto his back.

"You asked me if I was clean."

Aziraphales heart was pattering now, trying its best to wrest itself from its icy cage. "I shouldn’t have."

"No, you should've. I should've asked you. You should've asked me. Whatever."

Aziraphale swallowed and tried to follow the strain of Crowley’s thoughts. He couldn’t. They’d just been settling in, trading pillow talk and now this. 

"Thank you for apologizing then," Aziraphale said because he didn’t know what else to say. "You're forgiven."

"I wish you wouldn’t say that," Crowley said quietly.

"What?" 

"You're forgiven. My ex used to say that. Not ‘I forgive you’. You're forgiven."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, suddenly feeling like he was wading into dangerous waters, sharks everywhere. "Your ex. The bad one?"

"Lucian," Crowley said, word snapped between his teeth like maybe he could break it if he bit down hard enough.

Aziraphale hesitated. Crowley had shared a great deal this evening but…

"Do you want to tell me about him?"

Crowley looked at him, eyes fierce and blazing, and then the emotion drained away. He just looked tired.

“He was my sponsor. At NA. That first time.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. “Isn’t that—”

“Against the rules? Yeah. But he was pretty above board about it. I got a new sponsor after that but I thought I was _indebted_ to him. That he _saved_ me or some shite. He used that to his advantage often enough.”

Aziraphale hesitated and then took Crowley’s hand, relieved when he didn’t pull away.

“Two years we were together. Those first six months might be the happiest I’d ever been. I took up gardening, went to meetings, fell in love.”

Aziraphale forced away the sharp sting of jealousy. He didn’t exactly have anything to be jealous about. 

“The first time I fell off the wagon, he got so mad. After that, it was constantly reporting on everything I did, everyone I saw. We’d get in fights before we showed up at parties and he’d ignore me entirely. Act like he didn’t know me.

“We’d go home and I’d be crazy trying to get him to talk to me again. So I’d do the right thing, say the right words and then he’d say that. _You’re forgiven._ ”

Aziraphale wanted to scrape up his thoughtless words and stuff them down his own throat. How could someone like Crowley fall into a situation like that? He seemed like he was all sharp claws and fighting teeth. 

“He said I was a risk to myself apparently. I just _had_ to get tested. Prove I was clean and sober."

Aziraphale might have been crying. He didn’t know. 

"Load of bullshit really," Crowley added before sucking his lower lip into his mouth and frowning.

“Why did you stay?” Aziraphale asked wetly. And maybe it was a stupid question. Relationships like the one Crowley was describing rarely made sense.

Crowley rolled his head and looked at him, eyebrows pulled together. “You can get addicted to a lot of things, Aziraphale.”

They sat in silence for a moment and then Crowley’s eyes fell shut as he took a shuddering breath. He’d been stoic for so long that that reverberating sound ripped at Aziraphale’s heart. He squeezed his hand. It felt like it was all he could do.

“He did this,” Crowley said, brushing his hand over his scarred cheek. “He said he finally used after 10 years sober because of me. Because of the stress of taking care of me. He was high and he was angry and he said I didn’t deserve to look disappointed in him so he put his thumb in my eye.”

He desperately wanted to hold him, to fix this but that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t reach through history and change it. But then Crowley opened his eyes and they were clear and Aziraphale’s vicarious heart mended a little.

"Want to know the worst part?" Crowley said and Aziraphale watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

"If Bee hadn’t gotten me out, I doubt I would have ever left."

Aziraphale brought Crowley’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. "You don’t know that."

“Well, it was the only way I was getting out alive, how about that?” Crowley said with a hollow laugh and when Aziraphale didn’t laugh too, Crowley’s frowned. "Look, I put up with it all for years. I believed everything he told me and I forgave him over and over. I stuck through the screaming and the fights and I probably would have stuck through anything. Because that's what I thought you did when you loved someone. Stuck around. No matter what."

"Do you still think that?"

"Learned better. In therapy."

"Good."

Crowley snuffled a little, like he’d been crying, even though Aziraphale hadn’t seen a single tear. 

Gathering himself, Aziraphale said, "I think we do what we have to in order to survive. However people have treated you is not who you are."

Crowley’s eyes flicked over his face and despite his shining eyes, something amused tipped his mouth. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I do," Aziraphale said with as much determination as he could muster with Crowley looking at him like that, like Aziraphale was kind and good and funny. 

Overwhelmed, Aziraphale scooted closer, pulling Crowley against him and tucking his nose into his shoulder. “Thank you. For telling me.”

Crowley hummed. “I sort of feel like I’ve been clobbered by an emotional hammer.”

Aziraphale snorted and some of the tragedy in his heart faded as Crowley rolled over and let Aziraphale tuck against his back.

Perhaps things would truly be alright. Regardless of this misunderstanding, they could move forward.

* * *

Aziraphale woke up to sunlight. He shot upright in bed and swore.

"What time is it?" he asked, scrambling out of bed. 

Crowley groaned and rolled over, hand searching for his phone on the nightstand.

"9:30," he grumbled before tossing it back on the table and pushing his face into the pillow.

Aziraphale swore, moving through the dim bedroom and searching for all his clothes. 

"Problem?" Crowley asked, sitting up and looking at him blearily. He was unfairly attractive given the state of his hair. 

Aziraphale tugged on his trousers and ignored the pull of arousal in his belly. "I shouldn't have stayed over. I teach a 10 AM class."

"Shit, " Crowley said, clambering out of bed. "Let me make you toast or tea. Do you need a toothbrush?"

"Toothbrush, yes. Tea, no," Aziraphale said, scrounging around for his bow tie. Maybe he could go without and seem like he was trying a new look.

"Good lord, I'm going to be teaching in yesterday’s clothes."

Crowley laughed. "No one will notice."

"I certainly hope not," Aziraphale said, gratefully taking the spare toothbrush. 

Crowley watched him for a minute while he brushed his teeth before finally saying, "I'm sorry you have to rush out but I'm glad you stayed."

Aziraphale spit out the mouthful of toothpaste and looked back at him. "I am too."

That earned him a grin so beautiful that Aziraphale knew he’d think about it until they saw each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed sock garter sex as much as i enjoyed writing it ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fast update because the folks in the romcom server got me excited for this chapter so shout out to them!
> 
> beta'ed by loudalligator and seekwill
> 
> CW: mentions of off screen fatphobia, self-consciousness, non graphic needle use (for blood drawing)

Crowley had told him the worst of it. The Luc stuff. And Aziraphale had held his hand. He’d acted like it was just another part of Crowley, someone he liked and wanted around. It was ridiculous what that did to Crowley's insides. All the hope stirred up there as they lay down together to sleep, Aziraphale holding him.

The morning had been just as good. Aziraphale had given Crowley a filthy kiss before he rushed off like something out of Alice in Wonderland, crying out about being late, all fluttering hands and hurried movements. Even though Crowley felt a bit bad for not setting an alarm, he was mostly overwhelmed by how ridiculously adorable Aziraphale was when he was flustered.

Crowley was feeling pretty good when he walked into work after Aziraphale left. He was late because he’d gotten distracted twice in the shower, too busy daydreaming like a lovestruck teenager to focus on washing his hair.

In short, he was a mess. But maybe in a good way for once.

Bee popped up from behind the door of the dented Volvo like the world’s darkest whack-a-mole, startling Crowley. He dropped his lunchbox on the bench in surprise.

A grin spread over their face. “You’re whistling.”

“Maybe,” Crowley said, scowling and turning his back to Bee. “S’not illegal.”

“You and Professor Sunshine finally talk then?” Bee said, voice drawing close behind him.

Crowley tried to shrug but the bright thing in his chest was so huge that he thought he might choke if he didn’t smile.

“I’ll take that stupid look on your face as a yes,” Bee said, nudging him with their elbow as they pulled up to his side.

Crowley tried to fight the soppy expression into submission but it just made his cheeks hurt so he let it go. Felt nice actually.

“You know,” Bee began and something about their tone had Crowley turning to look at them. Same old Bee, disheveled black hair, red bandana, dirty face. He felt a swell of affection for them, their consistency. Fuck, he must be happy if he was thinking like that.

“He seems like a good one,” Bee said finally before rattling off the way they did, tiny steps on tiny feet.

Crowley scrubbed a hand over his face and tied his hair back. Time to get to work.

* * *

"I was thinking," Anathema began between bites of chips. She’d managed to convince Aziraphale to go off campus and get something quite unhealthy for lunch. Well, she was getting something unhealthy. Aziraphale was eating a salad with grilled chicken because vegetables were important which he tried to tell Anathema but she had thrown a chip at him.

"I was thinking that you and your mechanic could come to mine for dinner. With Newt."

Aziraphale nearly choked on the lettuce in his mouth. "You want to go on a double date?"

Anathema turned up her nose defiantly. "No. I want to have an intimate dinner party."

Aziraphale leveled her with an unimpressed look and she frowned. "Fine. You're my best friend and I want you and Newt to like each other."

"I like Mr. Pulsifer fine," Aziraphale said primly and Anathema shot him a venomous look. 

"And I want to get to know this mechanic of yours."

When Aziraphale winced, Anathema's gaze turned sharp. "What happened?"

Aziraphale put down his fork and patted his mouth with his napkin. He’d purposefully avoided discussing this with Anathema because he knew exactly what she would say and how guilty that would make him feel. But things with Crowley were—if not resolved, at the very least better.

"We got into a bit of a fight. A misunderstanding," Aziraphale rushed to add when Anathema opened her mouth. "We worked it out Wednesday night."

"Oh, did you?" Anathema said slyly, wiggling her eyebrows. "Is that why you were wearing the same clothes yesterday?"

Aziraphale’s ears burned and he stared at his plate. “Suffice it to say,” he said with forced emphasis. “I do not think a dinner party is a good idea right now.”

“Next week then,” Anathema said easily. 

“You’re not going to drop this, are you,” Aziraphale said and Anathema shook her head.

“Nope,” she replied, happily popping the P. Why Aziraphale had chosen to be friends with her, he had no idea.

* * *

Aziraphale picked up Crowley in the afternoon on Saturday, after they had mutually agreed to go to the clinic a few towns over mostly because Aziraphale had spied an Ethiopian place that he wanted to try.

“It’ll be a little adventure,” Aziraphale said, wiggling happily before turning the engine over and driving them out. He was wearing another long sleeved sweater, this time green argyle. Crowley was going to get an argyle complex at this point. He wouldn’t be able to look at the stuff without getting turned on.

Crowley was a bit punch drunk about the fact Aziraphale wanted to do this at all. It wasn’t sending him off to the clinic with instructions to bring back proof. It was an excited bounce on the balls of his feet and a _let’s go get tested together, it’ll be fun._ It was soothing and comfortable and any trepidation Crowley would have felt about being judged faded away under Aziraphale boisterous enthusiasm.

“You know, this is very good. Getting tested together. Once we get a firm negative, we can do all sorts of things,” Aziraphale said when they finally got out of Tadfield. “I’ve been looking forward to you fucking me and I always like it a bit more without condoms.”

Crowley’s head snapped to the right and his mouth dropped open. Surely he’d misheard—

“Unless of course you prefer to be penetrated,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully like he was discussing the weather and not sexual positions. “I suppose I can do either but I really do prefer being the receiving partner and you have such a lovely cock—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley growled warningly. He was already growing hard in his trousers and they weren’t even halfway to their destination. He pictured Aziraphale in his bed, splayed out and ready for him. He bit back a groan.

Crowley saw the particular crook of Aziraphale’s mouth and knew what he was on about. Bastard.

"Was that too frank? Do you dislike when I mention your cock?"

Crowley sucked in air between his teeth and tried to keep his hips still. His cock was steadily filling and growing uncomfortable in his trousers.

Aziraphale sighed dramatically. "Well, then you probably wouldn’t like if I mentioned how much I've thought about it. Last night I was in bed and I thought about you, how your cock had felt in my mouth -”

Crowley whined and pressed the heel of his hand against the zip of his trousers. Jesus christ. 

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to him and then that smile wasn’t hiding anymore, tipping his mouth entirely. He clucked his tongue performatively, all faux distress.

“Poor dear. Are you quite alright?” Aziraphale asked innocently and fuck, Crowley wanted to kiss him. If Aziraphale weren’t driving, Crowley would have him laid out right there, tongue in his mouth and hand on his cock. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Would you like a little relief?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley’s eyes shot open, head snapping to the side to look at him. Was he offering…

“Please,” Crowley said, a wavering breath.

“Open your trousers for me,” Aziraphale said, not taking his eyes off the road and Crowley thought he might come right there if the tingling at the base of his neck was anything to go by.

He fumbled at his zip, ready to fall at Aziraphale feet and do anything he said. Aziraphale looked so calm in profile. Crowley could see the beautiful way his nose turned up, the peach curl of his mouth. 

“Why don’t you put a hand on yourself? Slow at first, please.”

Fucking _please_ had Crowley’s hips bucking up against his own hand. 

“Are you hard for me?”

Crowley’s head fell back against the seat, heart racing and stomach hot as he slipped his hand into his drawers. “Yeah, angel. For you.”

Aziraphale hummed, sounding pleased. “Touch yourself like you do at home.”

Crowley licked his lips and obeyed, thumbing over the head of his cock and starting with slow strokes. He watched the obscene movements of his hand under the tight fabric of his briefs, toes curling because Aziraphale was so easily telling him what to do.

“That’s it. Tell me how it feels."

Crowley opened his eyes and looked at Aziraphale. He was faced entirely forward, hands on the wheel at ten and two, grip tight so Crowley could see the whites of his knuckles.

"Good," Crowley managed, caught in the sensation of his hand on his cock and the knowledge that Aziraphale was two feet away telling him how to get himself off. 

"Faster, please," Aziraphale said like he was leading some sort of lecture and that had Crowley pulsing precome over his fingers, enough to ease the friction of his hand. “Tug up your shirt for me. I wouldn’t want you getting messy.”

Crowley keened, tugging at it until his stomach was exposed to the cool air of the car. He moved his hand faster, eyes fluttering shut.

"When we get back to yours I'm going to let you put your hands on me. I'll lay on your black sheets and let you touch me. Would you like to suck my cock again? I could come on your pretty face."

Crowley tightened his grip, fucking himself faster with his fist. He could picture it; Aziraphale’s beautiful body laid out for him to see. Aziraphale tangling their fingers together as he kissed him in that delicious hungry way. Maybe Crowley could slip a hand between his legs and delicately open him up while they kissed. 

His thighs were twitching, muscles starting to lock as his arousal crested. He forced his eyes open so he could look at Aziraphale. There was the soft side of his jaw, the dip of his chin, bow tie settled gorgeously at the crux of his throat. He was still focused on the road. Crowley wanted to kiss him so badly, he ached with it.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Kissing you,” Crowley gasped. 

Aziraphale sucked in a shuddering breath, the first sound that could possibly indicate he was affected by this at all and that had Crowley coming over his fist. Ears ringing, Crowley’s chest heaved as pleasure snapped through him. “Fuck,” he hissed.

“There are tissues in the glove box,” Aziraphale said, voice gruff like he’d been choked. 

Crowley fumbled to grab some and cleaned himself up. His face was swiftly turning red and now that the haze of lust had cleared he was distinctly embarrassed. He had just wanked in Aziraphale’s car. 

Crowley realized they were at their destination as Aziraphale pulled into the car park outside the clinic.

"I'm so sorry," Aziraphale said hurriedly, turning in his seat to face him, hands fluttering. Crowley's stomach lurched.

"What?"

"I got carried away!" Aziraphale said and when Crowley looked at him his cheeks were pink as apples. "Did you hate it?"

The tension in Crowley’s chest released. Aziraphale was looking at him so soft eyed and beautiful, thinking Crowley hadn’t liked coming his brains out in the front seat of his car. 

"I loved it," Crowley said, proud of his ability to both string words together and tell the truth.

Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxed. "Oh, thank goodness. It was rather arousing."

It was then that Crowley noticed the distinct bulge in Aziraphale’s trousers. He must have gotten a look on his face because Aziraphale waved him off.

"We have an appointment you know," Aziraphale pointed out, already halfway out the car door.

"As if you didn’t start it," Crowley grumbled, following after.

* * *

Once settled in the phlebotomist’s chair, Aziraphale valiantly tried not to think about how Crowley had looked touching himself in the front seat of Aziraphales car. Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale had seen the tip of his cock protruding from the waistband of his drawers, obscene and leaking while Crowley moved his hand over himself. He’d pushed up his shirt when Aziraphale had asked, revealing the devastating angle of his hip bones, the trail of hair that tapered into his pants.

It wouldn't do to get an erection while being jabbed with a needle so Aziraphale pointedly focused on thoughts of impending lunch. It had been quite a while since he’d had Ethiopian food.

"All done!" the tech said, giving the cotton ball and tape on the inside of Aziraphale’s elbow an indulgent pat.

"You'll get results in about a week. Thanks for coming in," the tech said, showing him out.

Crowley was already in the waiting room, scowling over the rims of his sunglasses. They reflected the fluorescent light something fierce, bright and blinding.

Aziraphale reached for his hand to tug him into a standing position so they could kiss briefly. Crowley made a pleased sound, hand tightening in Aziraphale’s and making him notice the rough texture of tape on the back of Crowley's hand.

"What is this?" Aziraphale asked when they broke apart. Crowley’s frown deepened.

"Had trouble getting a vein in my arm. Because of…"

Aziraphale realized his mistake abruptly and trailed his fingers over Crowley’s wrist. Long sleeves today under the shell of a black pea coat that looked like it had seen better days. Despite that, the overall effect made Crowley’s shoulders look broader, waist slimmer. Undeniably a very good look.

"Let’s get lunch, hm?" Aziraphale said, buttoning up his own coat and leading Crowley out of the clinic.

* * *

“So you’ve never had Ethiopian food before?” Aziraphale asked, swiping injera through his shiro wot.

“When was I going to eat Ethiopian food?” Crowley asked, pilfering some of Aziraphale’s wot for himself. Terrible manners. Stupidly endearing.

“Do you like it then?”

Crowley nodded and slopped a truly horrendous amount of yater alitcha onto his injera before stuffing it into his mouth and chewing haphazardly. 

“I went through a vegan phase about six years ago,” Crowley said. “Probably would have stuck with it longer if I’d had food like this.”

“Vegan?” Aziraphale repeated incredulously. Crowley hardly seemed the type; lover of gyros and meat lasagna.

Crowley laughed, self-deprecating and sharp. “It was more for the challenge than anything. I wanted to try vegan baking. Did you know you can make an egg out of flax seed?”

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley really was fascinating. All that history wrapped up in a tantalizing package.

Aziraphale sucked some wot off of his fingers. Crowley inhaled sharply and, realizing exactly what was going on, Aziraphale made more of a show of licking off the stew than was polite. It was worth it for how pink Crowley turned. It was a heady thing to know someone like Crowley was so attracted to him. A bit hard to believe and yet undeniable.

“I must admit, I never understood the appeal. Why limit one’s options?” Aziraphale said, ripping another piece of injera.

“Not everyone likes food as much as you do,” Crowley pointed out, already getting ready to stuff another too-big bite into his mouth.

Aziraphale dropped his injera, stomach going cold as his confidence crumbled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Crowley frowned, a strange thing given the way his cheeks were puffed out like a squirrel’s. Aziraphale wildly thought that if Crowley could unhinge his jaw and swallow an entire meal whole, he would.

“S’just I’ve never met anyone who enjoys a meal the way you do,” Crowley said after he finally swallowed, throat visibly bobbing with effort. “It’s like everything you eat is the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to put a protective hand on his belly. First of all, it would give entirely too much away and he still had shiro wot on his fingers.

“What did you think I meant?” Crowley asked, jaw going tight.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, suddenly tight. From the spice. Surely from the spice.

“You wouldn’t be the first to make a comment about how perhaps if I restrained myself I could be...well, more attractive,” Aziraphale said, looking at his water glass. He wanted to jab holes in the injera, rip it apart. Aziraphale had his fair share of exes and he didn’t have fond memories of all of them. There had been a few who were less than sensitive. It wasn’t one thing, one comment that made Aziraphale feel this way; it was small shames built up like snow, tiny flurried comments falling atop each other until Aziraphale felt entirely buried.

When he looked up at Crowley, his jaw was jutted out. He looked like he was spoiling for a fight.

“Who in the fu—are people blind?” Crowley sucked in a long breath and then blew it out through his nose like he was trying to calm down.

“Sorry,” Crowley said, ripping his injera with more violence than necessary. It made the tendons in his hands flex, emphasizing the wide breadth of his knuckles. 

“It’s not that important,” Aziraphale said, pushing away his plate. His hunger had faded quickly. He shouldn’t have brought this up; it always made him feel a bit sick.

Crowley’s hand came to rest flat on the table between them, long fingers splayed wide, black oil stuck in the cuticles, flecks in the fine lines along the veins of his hand. 

“You are gorgeous and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves,” Crowley hissed between his teeth.

“You don’t need to reassure me. You’ve made it clear how you feel.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded tight to his own ears and he uselessly wished he could stuff this away. Go back about ten seconds and kick himself before bringing it up.

Crowley frowned but fell back in his chair and dropped the subject. They finished their meal, chatting idly about vegan baking and Aziraphale felt certain the moment had passed. Perhaps he’d been a little defensive, but it really was fine. Crowley wanted him with the lights on and that was enough.

They split the bill and walked out in a silence that made Aziraphale nervous. Crowley wasn’t exactly a quiet person, preferring snark to silence, and now it was just the scuffing of their shoes as they walked to the car.

But the silence fell apart when Aziraphale went to unlock Crowley’s door and was immediately pressed against the side of his car, Crowley against him, warm and firm.

“I don’t like you going quiet,” Crowley said, running his hands under Aziraphale’s coat to circle his waist. “You didn’t finish your food.”

Aziraphale’s stomach muscles jumped under Crowley’s hands, the wide heat of them as they cradled his hips. 

“It’s not important,” Aziraphale said, breathless at the contact of Crowley’s body. There was just so much of him touching Aziraphale. For a moment, Crowley felt bigger than him; the way he bracketed Aziraphale’s body was consuming.

* * *

Aziraphale wasn’t happy and Crowley didn’t like that. His usually shining eyes were dimmed and his mouth was thin as a razor, just as sharp. Crowley didn’t know if it was the conversation in the restaurant or something else, but he could at least assuage Aziraphale’s concerns on one front.

Tucked up against the front of Crowley’s body, every single thing about it that Crowley liked about Aziraphale’s body was absolutely clear to him. The soft belly, the strong shoulders, the slopes of him. He tucked his head into Aziraphale’s neck and inhaled the scent of cloves and cumin from the restaurant. It clung to his clothes and skin, but just beneath was the comfortable Aziraphale smell. He kissed his pulse before pulling back a few inches, tracing the place he kissed with his fingers. 

“I like your neck. A stupid amount. Sometimes you tuck your head down and there’s this little”—looking confused, Aziraphale dipped his head, making Crowley smile as the small roll of fat appeared. “Just like that. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I always want to kiss it.”

So Crowley did and Aziraphale squeaked.

“I like the texture of your stretchmarks, the way your hips sink under my hands. I like your thighs. Fuck, I brought myself off in the shower yesterday thinking about them.”

Aziraphale made another strangled sound. “Why are you—why are you saying all this?”

Crowley steeled himself and said with as much conviction as he could muster, “I just—I’d hate for you to think I’m not attracted to you. In any way.”

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled, that liquid gray, welcoming and soft as a rain cloud. Crowley kissed him then, slow and chaste. 

“Thank you.”

“When we get back to Tadfield, do you want to come to mine?” Crowley asked, heart swelling until it filled his chest. His throat too.

Aziraphale glanced down and away. “I think—I think I’d like to have the evening to myself.”

The air went out of Crowley’s lungs. Alright, yeah. They’d spent most of the day together. That should be enough. He needed to hold himself back on this. No matter how much he liked Aziraphale he couldn’t get _needy_.

When they got into the car, Aziraphale paused, keys cradled in his hand for a moment. “My friend Anathema—you met her at the pub—she wants to have a dinner party next Friday. Would you like—would you like to come?”

Crowley had another one of those unbearable smiling feelings but now there was no Bee around to mock him so he let it show on his face. 

“Name the time and place. I’ll be there.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator  
> last chapter increase im pretty sure
> 
> CW: implied off-screen vomiting, food poisoning symptoms, non-graphic onscreen gagging, negative self talk

Aziraphale puttered about his kitchen, putting away dried dishes and humming idly. It had been a good day. Crowley had been a delight. First that...moment in the car and then lunch. And yes, perhaps the conversation had gotten a bit out of hand, but Crowley certainly wasn’t judgmental.

_Cutest thing I’ve ever seen,_ Crowley had said as he kissed his neck. Aziraphale set down the dish he was holding, hand drifting to his neck. He tipped his chin down and felt the rolls and wrinkles of it.

Aziraphale swallowed against the tightening of his throat. He’d never thought of himself as particularly self-conscious. He was practical. This was the shape of his body and he liked that. He liked the way it looked in waistcoats and jumpers. 

But Aziraphale also knew there was a truth in perception and when people looked at him they saw a large-bodied person. It had earned him some romantic rejections, some underhanded compliments. Through that Aziraphale learned to be practical. _Some people might not be attracted to you, but one day you’ll meet someone who won’t mind how you look._

He’d honestly never expected to meet someone who actively liked it.

_I like the way my hands sink into your hips. The texture of your stretch marks._

Aziraphale liked dirty talk for a lot of reasons. He liked the power it gave him. But he was no fool. He also knew he liked it because it gave him control over his partners reactions. _You may not be excited by how I look, but I can make you look forward to this. I’m good with words. I can paint you a picture until you’re hard. Maybe not for me but for an idea._

Aziraphale forced himself to focus on his plates. These were terribly depressing thoughts. 

He wished he could speak to Crowley but he didn’t want to call him. He was afraid of what his voice would give away. 

And then, for the first time since moving to Tadfield, Aziraphale wished he had a cell phone.

* * *

Crowley was making blueberry turnovers and yes, they were mostly for Aziraphale, but Bee also liked his turnovers so he was being a good friend and not a besotted idiot.

The compote was coming along well, simmering nicely. Crowley had put on an audio recording of the _Iliad_. Not for any reason except to re-educate himself.

It was stupidly boring though. 

His phone pinged. He turned down the compote before fishing his mobile out of his pocket.

A random number he hadn't saved had texted him.

Then he read it.

_Hello Crowley, this is Aziraphale. I obtained a mobile phone and wished for you to have my number._

Crowley gaped at the screen. Aziraphale had texted him. No more phone calls. No more awkwardly waiting around and hoping to hear from him. He was just a text away. His heart picked up speed as he tapped out a response.

_Finally joining us in the 21st century?_

Crowley set his phone on the counter as he stirred the compote. It was nearly done.

_I don't appreciate your tone. However, I believe this technology will greatly improve my life. It does make communication quite simple. Anathema is over the moon. She keeps sending me online horoscopes._

Crowley laughed. He supposed he was going to meet this Anathema girl later this week. Well, meet her again but properly this time.

_Anything good? I hear there’s decent advice in there._

Crowley purposefully put away his phone so he could focus on filling and sealing the turnovers even though his heart skipped every time a notification pinged.

Once the edges were sealed and the pastries were safely in the oven, Crowley pulled his phone back out and let himself grin as wide as he wanted. There was no one to see. 

_She sent me one about avoiding salad but I believe she was trying to rile me up. She has awful eating habits._

Crowley hesitated, thinking of his slight misstep at the Ethiopian restaurant.

Another text came through.

_Even worse than yours._

Crowley grinned at his screen, slumping against the counter and typing out a suitably acerbic reply. 

* * *

"And you're sure I shouldn’t bring anything?" Crowley asked again, voice warmly teasing through the receiver.

Aziraphale may have gotten a cell phone, but they still spoke on the phone. It was simply that now they could text each other as well. t was nice. It felt domestic.

"No. Anathema would be quite cross if you brought anything."

Crowley made a discontented noise. "Fine, but if she says anything, on your head be it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow? 6:30 you said?"

"That's perfect."

"See you then, angel."

Crowley hung up and Aziraphale pressed his phone to his chest. Perfect.

* * *

Crowley had worn his cleanest jeans and nicest shirt. He’d tucked his hair back into a neat bun instead of the usual half up half down he preferred. He wanted to look put together. Respectable.

Swiping his hands on his jeans he shut off his car and ambled up the walk. He tapped lightly on the door and tried very hard not to be nervous. Aziraphale was going to open his door, be his normal jovial self and then take Crowley to meet his friends. It would be fine.

The door creaked open.

Crowley froze.

“What happened?” he demanded, already pushing his way inside. Aziraphale wasn’t wearing a bow tie. He was just wearing a jumper, no button down beneath. He looked practically naked in the round necked green jumper. He looked vulnerable, bleary, ill.

Aziraphale blinked at him like a confused bird. His eyes were glassy. “What? Nothing’s happened. I’m just...I’m feeling a bit under the weather.”

Something protective surged through Crowley’s chest. He bared his teeth, hustling Aziraphale into the kitchen where he forced him to sit. “You mean you’re ill.”

“No. I’m not ill,” Aziraphale said, slapping at Crowley’s arms as he tried to manhandle into a chair.

“Have you eaten today?” Crowley asked, already in the kitchen flipping through cupboards to find a glass.

“Well, no, but that’s because I got sick after I ate a salad,” Aziraphale said. Crowley pressed a cup of water into his hand and he stared at it like he couldn’t figure out where it had come from. “And it was unpleasant.”

“Jesus Christ,” Crowley said, pressing a hand to his forehead while Aziraphale sipped at the water carefully. “You have food poisoning.”

He pushed a hand in his hair, rumpling the neat lines and realizing it most likely didn’t matter. Aziraphale was in no fit state for a dinner party. 

“We’re not going to dinner like this.”

Aziraphale put the cup down and held up his hand. “Excuse me. I am fine.”

“You’re ill, you loon,” Crowley said, pushing Aziraphale back down when he tried to stand. “I’m phoning your friend. We aren’t going.”

Aziraphale whined and pouted. “No. I told Anathema. She wanted to meet you properly.”

“Anathema will handle it,” Crowley said, ignoring the implication of _meet you properly_. Like Crowley was worth meeting because he was important to Aziraphale. “Give me your phone.”

He held out his hand and waited. Aziraphale stared at it, frowning. “Why?”

“I’m going to call her and let her know you’re ill.”

Aziraphale groaned dramatically and slapped his phone into Crowley’s hand.

Crowley tapped through his recents and dialed Anathema. Aziraphale glared at him, arms crossed over his chest in silent reprimand.

"Aziraphale!" Anthema said when she picked. "I was going to ask if you could pick up ice."

Crowley winced. "Not Aziraphale. This is Crowley, er, Anthony. Aziraphale’s boyf—his...er. Mechanic. I was supposed to come by with him tonight but he’s ill."

Anthema sighed. "He didn’t listen to his horoscope. "

"Right,” said Crowley. Aziraphale had warned him she was a strange one but really. “I just think he needs to rest."

"Absolutely! We can reschedule our little double date for a better time."

Double date.

"Yeah, sure...I’ll be around."

Crowley placed the phone on the table and turned back to Aziraphale. "Now, what to do with you?"

"I’m fine," Aziraphale said, turning a bit green. Crowley was on his feet immediately, grabbing the bin and placing it in front of Aziraphale who promptly gagged into it.

"Oh good lord," Aziraphale gasped when he was breathing again.

"See," Crowley said. "Ill."

* * *

Aziraphale was miserable and Crowley was there to see it. How mortifying. He laid on the cool tiles of his bathroom and stared at the ceiling. He hadn’t sicked up in a few hours but his head was pounding and he felt clammy all over. Being in the loo wasn’t doing anything except giving him the opportunity to hide from Crowley.

A tapping sounded at the door.

“Are you alright, angel?” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep breath, heaving himself to his feet and regretting it when the room spun around him. He clutched at the door handle and got himself together.

He pasted a smile on his face and willed himself to look less sweaty. “Yes, of course.”

Crowley frowned at him, suspicion evident even through his glasses. 

“I can take care of myself, my dear,” Aziraphale said pushing past Crowley. 

“When I get sick I like to watch old sitcoms,” Crowley said trailing after him. “But you don’t have a telly.”

“I usually read,” Aziraphale said. What had he come into the kitchen for? He stared at the taps. Water? 

Crowley was behind him immediately, hand on his elbow and steering him back down the hallway to the bedroom. “You should rest. Have a lie down.”

"Let’s get you more comfortable," Crowley said, half to himself. "Where are your pyjamas?"

Confused, Aziraphale pointed at the chest of drawers. "Bottom drawer"

Crowley moved easily to it, dropping into a crouch and retrieving his blue striped pyjamas. He set them on the foot of the bed and then Aziraphale’s jumper was being tugged over his head, cool air striking the damp skin of his back.

Crowley’s hand cupped his nape for a moment, his palm felt huge as it cradled his skull, a brief, comforting swipe of his thumb across the back of his neck. Aziraphale knew he’d be aroused if he wasn’t so exhausted.

"C'mon, pet, pyjama shirt?" Crowley asked, fetching the shirt and letting it unfurl in front of Aziraphale. He should have taken it from Crowley’s hands, changed his clothes himself. But this was just so nice, Crowley’s strong hands taking care of him. So clever, so delicate, so startlingly dear.

With the clarity provided only by exhaustion, Aziraphale realized something terrifying.

_I could fall in love with him._

His chest ached as the thought rang through him and Crowley’s hands moved over the buttons down his front. Maybe Aziraphale was trembling. Maybe it was simply because he was ill. 

"Take off your trousers," Crowley said, clearly not noticing anything was wrong. Was something even wrong? Wasn’t this a good thing?

Aziraphale obeyed meekly, trading out his trousers for pyjamas. Crowley had been right. He felt much more comfortable. He closed his eyes against a wave of tiredness.

Why was this even surprising? He liked Crowley. Wasn’t the logical next step to fall in love?

Except they hadn’t even discussed what this was. They were sleeping together. They went on dates. For Aziraphale that meant everything, but for someone like Crowley? Flash and clever and so attractive? He probably preferred casual things. 

Aziraphale didn’t feel well enough to think about all of this.

He didn’t want to scare Crowley off. He wanted to enjoy this for as long as it lasted.

“I’m sorry for ruining the evening,” Aziraphale said as he climbed into bed. Crowley placed a second pillow behind his head so he could sit up. He did feel a bit better when he laid down, less dizzy even if his worries were still swirling through him.

“It’s alright, angel,” Crowley said. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. 

Because Aziraphale was tired and overwhelmed, he didn’t think before he asked, “Why do you call me that?”

Crowley snatched his hand back. “What?”

“Angel.”

The autumn sun was setting outside, enveloping the room in its orange glow. It lit Crowley’s hair as it escaped the elastic at the back of his head, highlighting the gold that threaded through it. His eyes were still covered by his glasses but they would be lovely in this light.

Crowley looked down, hesitating. “It’s—you know—just a...just a nickname.”

“Nickname?” Aziraphale asked dubiously.

Crowley dropped heavily on the edge of the bed, close to where Aziraphale’s toes were tucked under the quilt. “You - that first time you came to the garage, you looked...the way the light hit you. I just thought you looked like something out of a painting. The angel appearing to the masses. _Do not be afraid,_ ” Crowley said in what he must have thought was an angelic voice.

Crowley laughed wryly, like he was embarrassed but Aziraphale had no idea why he should be. It was sweet. 

Aziraphale smiled and let his eyes drift shut. “Bit less like an angel now.”

"I dunno," Crowley said, smile edging back over his face. "You’ve got that sweaty glow. Dont angels glow?"

Aziraphale half-heartedly slapped his hand at him in reprimand, but Crowley dodged it easily. 

"Let me get you some water. You’re probably dehydrated."

Crowley stood, weight shifting on the mattress and Aziraphale watched him leave. He was dressed so nicely. Black shirt tucked into black trousers. They hugged his hips and made the long lines of his body longer. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes a drifted off, thinking about shadows and fiery hair. It wasn’t so much a sleep, as a light doze. It was exactly what his body needed. His eyes were tired and his muscles sore from retching. 

Crowley was gone for much longer than a glass of water warranted but Aziraphale had certainly lost track of time as he slipped in and out of consciousness. When Crowley finally appeared he was setting down water and something that smelled like broth onto Aziraphale’s night stand. 

“You have no food in this house,” Crowley admonished. “I had to go to the shops.”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said, immediately feeling guilty. “You shouldn’t have to—”

“Hush,” Crowley said, pressing the warm cup of broth into his hands. “Drink this.”

Then Crowley was crawling into bed beside him. “I also brought my laptop so we can watch something and you can nap.”

Aziraphale’s heart filled and for a moment he thought he might cry. “You really don’t have to stay.”

Crowley paused, laptop open in front him, whirring to life. “I don’t have to. And I can leave if you’d like but I know I always feel like shite when I’m sick. Company helps.”

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Golden Girls?” Crowley offered then, bunching up the pillows on the headboard so he could settle next to Aziraphale, laptop between them. He took off his sunglasses and placed them on the side table. The gesture made Aziraphale’s heart trip over itself. Crowley, vulnerable in his bed, taking care of him. 

Aziraphale sipped at the broth and let him hit play.

* * *

Crowley woke up to a disgruntled snuffle and realized he wasn’t at home. He groaned. It was dark out, the only light in Aziraphale’s bedroom that coming from the laptop screen, paused between episodes. _Are you still watching?_

He turned and looked at Aziraphale, curled onto his side, face pressed into his picture-perfect flower-patterned pillow. He did look like a picture. Dusky blonde lashes against his cheeks, the shadows of the dark room revealing new lines on his face, emphasizing the thin skin beneath his eyes, the slope of his temples.

Crowley abruptly realized he was both staring and had fallen asleep in Aziraphale’s bed without an invitation. Bit of an overstep, that.

He slipped out of bed and snagged Aziraphale’s cups from the side table. He’d leave a full cup for Aziraphale and then get on his way.

He went into the kitchen with the best intentions but something about the way the moonlight reflected on the parquet floors had him sagging against the counter, chest constricting. It just looked so perfect. It was that same thought from all those weeks ago. What was he doing in this picturesque place? He was the dirt that rinsed off your hands and swirled down the drain, the cracked engine block. An ex-addict with a criminal background didn’t get a white picket fence ending, no matter how much he wanted it. He pictured waking up to the sunlight in Aziraphale’s bedroom, the smell of fresh coffee, the sound of Aziraphale puttering in his study. 

He had something he so desperately wanted in his hands, fragile and perfect. He was afraid if he looked at it too closely, it would shatter.

He hadn’t had someone to take care of in years. He’d barely been able to take care of himself. That he could take care of Aziraphale, that Aziraphale wanted him to, was enough to make his heart go wonky. How the fuck had this happened? What had Crowley done to possibly deserve this?

"Oh!"

Crowley looked up and met Aziraphale’s eyes.

"I thought you left," Aziraphale said, blinking owlishly as he stepped into the shadows of the kitchen. "I’m feeling a bit better and was going to make some toast."

Crowley waved him off, turning to face the window because tears were tingling at the corners of his eyes. 

"I can get it for you. You should be resting."

A warm hand settled between his shoulder blades, grounded him. He took a deep breath.

"Are you alright? Aziraphale asked quietly, coming to his side and looking at him with concern. 

"Course I’m alright.”

Aziraphale regarded him silently. He did look better, gaze clearer, skin less clammy. "You can stay you know. I've got the spare bedroom."

Crowley’s silly fantasy about waking up in this little house with its shutters and its bird bath was so clear in his mind. But he couldn’t have that. He didn’t belong somewhere like that. He had his apartment with its shit lighting and his dusty garage. His half built Bentley. That was his. That dark space.

This? He’d only muck it up.

"S'alright," Crowley said, shrugging off Aziraphale’s touch. "I should probably get home. I’ll make you that toast and get you more water?"

Aziraphale nodded hesitantly.

"Go back to bed, pet," Crowley said, brushing a kiss over his forehead, shocked by the way his whole body tingled at the chaste contact. He wanted to kiss Aziraphale properly but he’d been sick and probably wanted his space.

Crowley found himself abruptly wrapped in a tight hug, Aziraphale’s arms around him, face tucked into his neck. 

"You wonderful man," Aziraphale said, words muffled against Crowley’s skin.

Crowley hesitantly brought his hands up to Aziraphale’s back and that only made Aziraphale settle more deeply against his chest. He rubbed careful circles down his spine. Aziraphale was warm in his arms, the fabric of his pyjamas soft and comforting. 

"Are you going to be alright if I go?" Crowley asked and Aziraphale nodded, his hair tickling Crowley’s jaw. The sensation made him smile.

"I’m just a text away," Crowley reminded him as they parted. "Now back to bed with you."

Aziraphale grumbled without any heat and disappeared down the hall. Crowley stared after him and wished he was good enough to deserve this.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> betaed by seekwill and LoudAlligator
> 
> shout out to the GO Events Server as always because you made this chapter 100% more gratuitous

Aziraphale’s phone pinged on his nightstand. He was feeling much better after the whole food poisoning debacle the night before, his heart growing warm whenever he thought of Crowley.

He flipped open his texts and smiled when a photo came through.

_All clear_

It was an image of a letter from the clinic. Clean bill of health. Aziraphale realized he hadn’t checked his post since Thursday and forced himself out of bed to go collect it, happily sending evidence of his own negative results. Crowley replied quickly.

_Guess that means we’re good to go_

Aziraphale grinned, all number of filthy things flitting through his mind’s eye. Being fucked into Crowley’s mattress, licking Crowley’s come from his belly, getting on his knees and doing everything he could to make Crowley scream.

 _I’m looking forward to it_ , he sent. And that was putting it mildly.

* * *

Being at work was a good distraction, but it didn’t stop Crowley replaying the night before. Aziraphale in his arms, the panic in his chest as he left.

Now they both had proof in their hands that it was safe for them to do...whatever they wanted in bed. Aziraphale had made it very clear what he had been looking forward to. Crowley’s face burned at the memory of Aziraphale’s words in the car.

 _I’ve been looking forward to you fucking me_.

He redirected his attention to the taillight he was rewiring. It was a ridiculous job, an easy thing the customer could have done with a quick google. Not that he was complaining. If someone wanted to pay him to do something this easy then he was just fine with that.

He heard his phone vibrate, a loud buzzing against the metal top of the toolbox and he pulled out of the boot of the car, wiping his dusty fingers on his trousers so he could read Aziraphale’s text. Well, it was probably Aziraphale’s text.

_I wanted to thank you for helping me yesterday. You made everything a bit easier._

Crowley’s heart twisted uncomfortably— _you wonderful man_ —and he tapped out a reply.

_Are you feeling any better_

He didn't have to wait very long for Aziraphale to type back. All those reservations about getting a phone and yet he seemed quite savvy.

_Much. I believe the salad is no longer plaguing me. Are you working tomorrow? I could pick you up for lunch._

Crowley hesitated. He was working and it had been a slow week so there was no reason he couldn't take a long lunch. But thinking about being with Aziraphale made his heart hurt in a peculiar way.

 _That'd be great 12?_ Crowley typed back.

_Of course._

He slipped his phone into his pocket. He was shaking, his throat was closing. He needed to do something.

"I’m not coming in tomorrow!" Bee called from the office and Crowley lurched to attention.

“That’s fine,” Crowley called back. “I’ll be here.”

He walked over to the office and leaned against the door jamb. "I’ll probably shut down around noon. Get lunch."

Bee looked up sharply. "Date?"

Crowley nodded and tried to keep a straight face. This was complicated enough; he didn’t need to have to explain it to Bee while he was still trying to explain it to himself.

"Alright, fine. If you get the Nissan done just close for the day."

Crowley nodded, plucking the task list from the wall and going back to the floor, heart heavy as his thoughts refused to be silenced.

He liked Aziraphale. That much was obvious. But he was getting attached and that wasn’t good. He couldn’t get attached. When Crowley got attached, people got tired of him because he was needy and desperate and disgusting—

He tossed the clipboard down onto the bonnet of the car and groaned. Fuck, this was unhealthy. What would Molly have said? They’d talked about his fucked up relationships enough.

_You’re just trying to protect yourself from getting hurt but we can’t ever really protect ourselves. It’s always a risk. But sometimes, it’s worth the risk, don’t you think?_

Crowley could picture the way she would tilt her head and wait for him to answer her open-ended question, make the decision for himself. He knew what his decision was. He’d made it the minute Aziraphale had asked him to lunch. This was a risk. And he had to be willing to take it.

He replayed the phrase like a mantra as he slithered back into the boot. _Worth the risk, worth the risk_.

It didn’t help. All it served to do was distract him as he tried to dig out the wires for the taillights. He kept thinking about how he must be blowing this all out of proportion. He couldn’t possibly like Aziraphale as much as he thought. And Aziraphale could hardly like him. Sure it was good but whatever. Aziraphale would realize Crowley wasn’t good when Crowley inevitably fucked up.

Stuck in his horrid, useless thoughts, Crowley lost focus as he tried to extract himself from the boot of the car. It was dark and he knocked his head against the metal, ripping out his hair elastic. Several strands of his hair got caught on the edge of the felt-covered cardboard that protected the inside of the taillight as the rest fell in his face.

He growled and pulled back, losing a chunk of hair in the process as the skin of one of his knuckles ripped open on the jagged edge of cardboard.

“Fuck!” he yelled, grabbing his hand and cradling it to his chest, the burn of the torn skin drowning at the pain in his scalp.

Stupid taillights. Stupid hair. Fuck.

In the loo, he washed his hands a bit too forcefully, the sting of soap on his scraped knuckle doing nothing to ground him. He looked himself in the eye, saw the glimmer of his scar and slammed the taps off with a garbled yell. Fuck this. Fuck trying to be okay.

“Bee!” Crowley shouted, ripping open the door to the loo and stomping through the garage.

“Where’s the fire?” Bee asked, frowning as they pulled out from under the bonnet of the car they were working on.

“I’m leaving.”

Bee’s frown deepened. “Why?”

“I’m doing something about my bloody hair.”

* * *

Aziraphale put on the tan jumper Crowley had complimented once and took off for the garage. Crowley had been oddly standoffish on the phone when Aziraphale had rung him that morning to confirm their plans.

It was probably nothing and Aziraphale was simply projecting his own nerves.

They both had a clean bill of health and the world was their oyster so to speak.

Feeling ridiculous—and rather hopeful—Aziraphale had tucked a packet of lube in his pocket before leaving his house. Rather safe than sorry.

He kept thinking about how Crowley had looked in his bed when Aziraphale had been sick. The easy way he had removed his sunglasses, the cast of his skin in the glow of the laptop. He was so dreadfully gorgeous. Aziraphale felt hot about the collar just thinking about all the things they could get up to in bed now that they knew it was safe.

The wide electric doors on the front of the garage were closed so Aziraphale went to the side door. Finding it unlocked, he let himself in. The garage was eerily silent, the music Aziraphale had heard on previous visits curiously absent.

He followed the sounds of metal on metal to a black car towards the back of the garage just as the passenger door creaked open and Crowley unfolded out of the front seat.

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat.

Crowley was wearing mechanic’s overalls, dark gray and covering his entire body. They made his limbs look longer, emphasized the thin twist of his hips.

But that wasn’t what made Aziraphale’s heart hammer in his chest.

Crowley had cut his hair.

Where before it had been long enough to pull back into a small bun, now it was cropped tight to the sides of his head. Gone were the coppery waves, replaced by soft looking strands that were short enough to reveal his ears, the graceful curve of his neck. It was slightly longer on top, a bit tousled.

And he wasn’t -

He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.

Aziraphale swallowed. More than anything, all he wanted to do was _touch_.

* * *

"Crowley?"

Wincing, Crowley turned around, ready for the reprimand, the confusion, the disappointment. Aziraphale had said he loved his hair and Crowley had gone and chopped it all off.

Aziraphale eyebrows were up, mouth a small _o_ of surprise. "You cut your hair."

His eyes danced over Crowley's face, bright gray and shining. Gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous.

"Yeah, sorry, I should’ve—"

"It’s so short," Aziraphale breathed, moving closer, hand drifting up and then pausing. "May I?"

Crowley's breath was stuck in his throat, heavy as a stone. He nodded.

Aziraphale passed his fingers through the thin strands on the sides, moving up to tug on the lock of hair that had flopped onto his forehead.

"You look so handsome," Aziraphale said, words soft between them.

Not thinking, not caring about the fact that his hands were filthy, he cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him because he had to. Because Aziraphale was gorgeous and warm and perfect and Crowley felt so relieved.

What had he been thinking? Aziraphale wasn't like Lucian. He didn't make Crowley do things like check in or get approval for something like a haircut.

Aziraphale humphed in surprise against his mouth but quickly relaxed, fisting his hands in Crowley's overalls and letting him part his lips with his tongue.

Crowley realized abruptly that they hadn’t kissed in over week and whatever he’d told himself— _it’s not that good, you're imagining things_ —fell apart under the reality of Aziraphale’s mouth on his. It sent sparks down to the tips of his fingers. Made his stomach cartwheel. The little sounds Aziraphale made, the firmness of his kiss; Crowley never wanted it to end.

Aziraphale pulled back first, the streaks of dirt on his jaw somehow making him even more alluring. Crowley wanted to take off his jumper, undo his bowtie, get his hands on his body. He hadn’t touched him in too long. He wanted to hold him like he had Friday night but with no fabric between them, only skin and heat.

Aziraphale reached out and tugged on the zip to his overalls. "How do these work then?" he asked and Crowley was fairly certain he was trying to be coquettish but he had no idea. Innocent bastardry was Aziraphale’s speciality.

"Just a zip," Crowley asked which was a stupid reply because he should have realized what Aziraphale meant by the question. Which he did when Aziraphale tugged open the zip and slipped his hands inside Crowley's clothes.

"I can't wait for you to be inside me."

Crowley gasped as Aziraphale slotted his knee between Crowley's legs pressing their hips together and showing Crowley exactly how much Aziraphale was affected by this too.

“Fuck,” Crowley groaned when Aziraphale scraped his teeth over his neck. Crowley clutched at him, thoughts falling away as Aziraphale kissed his exposed collarbone, hand slipping between them to rub over his erection. Crowley loved Aziraphale’s hands. They were so pretty but were capable of such filthy things.

Crowley tugged him back up into a kiss, swiping his tongue into his mouth and whimpering when Aziraphale shoved his overalls down over his arms. He needed his hands on Aziraphale. He wanted to hear him moan into his mouth. He wanted to feel him shake apart. It had been too long.

Once his hands were free, he fumbled for the fastening of Aziraphale’s braces, undoing them with messy fingers. He scrambled for his zip, nearly drowning in the heat of him. Aziraphale felt like heaven in his arms, so soft. Slipping his hands into Aziraphale’s trousers, he grasped the fullness of his arse. Aziraphale gasped, clearly sensitive.

Crowley wanted to have Aziraphale on his knees. He could bite that arse, knead those thighs, lick into him and have him fall apart.

 _Fuck_ , he realized with dizzy clarity that he could do that now.

Grabbing Aziraphale’s hips, Crowley moved them so Aziraphale was pressed against the bonnet of the car. He pushed down his trousers, braces clacking against the metal as the fabric fell about his thighs.

“I want you. Can I have you?” Crowley growled, fumbling at Aziraphae’s bow tie, relieved when it came apart.

“Yes, fuck, anything. Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, threading his hands in Crowley’s hair as Crowley kissed his jaw.

He pulled back for a moment and saw the streaks of dirt on Aziraphale’s face, on the edge of his white collar. He felt a swell of possessiveness. He’d made Aziraphale look like that with his hands. He should feel guilty for ruining the pristine edges of him but all he could feel was the desire to make an even bigger mess of him. When did he ever feel like this?

Crowley grabbed his hips, watching his thumbs smear dirt over the swell of flesh as he turned Aziraphale around to face the car. He pressed his knee between Aziraphale’s legs to hold him in place.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, voice thready as Crowley ran his hands up underneath Aziraphale’s shirt, grasping at his belly, his chest. He cock pulsed when he thought about the marks he was leaving behind. “What are you doing?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m doing.”

Crowley dropped to his knees behind Aziraphale, hooking his thumbs in his boxers and pulling them down slowly. They’d slept together a few times now, but Crowley hadn’t had the opportunity to really appreciate this.

He liked Aziraphale’s body, the way it filled his hands. But he’d been obsessed with his arse, his legs, since the very beginning. The back of his thighs were lightly furred with blonde hair, the spread of them soft over strong corded muscles that flexed under Crowley’s hands. He scraped his nails over the place where his thighs met the swell of his buttocks. Aziraphale jerked forward and groaned.

“I’m very - I’m very sensitive,” he gasped, already breathing hard.

“Good.”

Crowley traced the stretch marks that painted the slopes of his hips. He licked over the swell of his bum, scraping his teeth. Aziraphale squirmed.

Pressing his thumbs into his flesh, Crowley spread him open. His heart raced at the intimacy of what he was about to do. Aziraphale was clean and warm, smelling somehow of detergent and that unique scent at the underside of his ear that Crowley liked to chase. He felt precome dribble down his own cock as he nuzzled over the coarse hair protecting the vulnerable skin in front of him.

At the first touch of Crowley’s tongue, Aziraphale cried out and Crowley heard the slap of a palm against metal. He grasped Aziraphale’s hips more firmly and licked him with the flat of his tongue, tracing the unique texture of him. Aziraphale was moaning and wriggling and Crowley felt so powerful, chest aching with need to be closer as he brought Aziraphale pleasure.

He closed his eyes and let himself chase the sounds Aziraphale made, losing track of time, saliva dripping off his face and onto the concrete floor as he let Aziraphale fuck his tongue. Eventually, Aziraphale went pliant under his hands, nearly incoherent as he pushed back against Crowley’s face.

“Fingers,” Aziraphale finally choked out. “Lube. In my pocket.”

Crowley sat back on his heels. Haze of lust clearing for a moment as he tried to figure that out. “You brought lube? To lunch?”

“I wanted to be prepared!” Aziraphale protested, pushing up on his hands and twisting to look at Crowley. His face was pink and now that he was facing Crowley, he could see the hard length of his cock, red and just barely leaking at the tip. Fuck.

Scrambling for the toolbox, Crowley yanked out the box of black nitrile gloves he kept on hand and tossed them at Aziraphale. “Put these on me.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked, confused as he caught the box in his hands.

“My hands are dirty,” Crowley said, desperate to get his hands back on Aziraphale and not wanting to stop touching him for long enough to go to the washroom.

Aziraphale nodded slowly, drawing out two gloves. He grasped one of Crowley’s wrists, bringing up his hand to place it carefully inside the opening of the glove. “You have such beautiful hands,” Aziraphale said quietly, eyes dark as he ran his fingers over the slick material once it covered his palms.

Crowley swallowed hard. Aziraphale brought lube to the bloody garage and Crowley was about to use it.

He fished through Aziraphale’s pockets and found a small black packet. He ripped it open with his teeth, squeezing a small amount on his fingers. "Face the car," he said, sounding much more put together than he felt. Aziraphale squeaked and obeyed immediately.

Mind going blank as his focus narrowed entirely on Aziraphale, he pressed the tip of one finger inside him. He crooked it experimentally but Aziraphale seemed to want none of his hesitance, pressing back with a needy noise until Crowley could sink his entire finger inside.

"Fuck, you’re hot,” Crowley said, the warmth of Aziraphale surrounding his fingers and making him even harder. He was going to fuck him soon, just like Aziraphale asked and he was going to make sure Aziraphale loved every moment.

"Two fingers," Aziraphale demanded. "Now. I want you to fuck me."

Crowley whined and did as he was told, watching the obscene stretch of Aziraphale arse around his knuckles.

He kissed Aziraphale’s hip and scissored his fingers, doing his best to carefully stretch him but Aziraphale kept squirming, demanding more.

"Give me your cock," Aziraphale whined. "I want it. Please."

Heart racing, Crowley stood. His overalls were down around his waist but he had to open his trousers beneath, the series of buttons and zips almost too much for his lust-addled mind.

Slicking himself with the remainder of the lube, Crowley pressed the head of his cock against Aziraphale, the tight pressure squeezing and then giving way until he sank in slowly.

Aziraphale shouted, a surprised, almost pained sound, and Crowley froze.

"Don’t you dare stop," Aziraphale said hurriedly, reaching behind him to grasp at Crowley’s hip, urging him deeper.

So Crowley didn’t.

* * *

Aziraphale thought this might be the most erotic thing that had ever happened to him. Eaten out in the middle of the day bent over a car. Not exactly his plan when he’d pocketed the small packet of lube but undeniably good. Amazing, in fact.

He scrabbled at the metal bonnet of the car as Crowley sank into him. The burning stretch was exactly what he wanted, sending him into a fuzzy state of consciousness where his thoughts blurred and all he could feel was the pleasure-pain of being thoroughly fucked. He was probably talking, saying filthy things, but it didn’t matter. It was only the feeling of Crowley inside him, the slip of his gloved hands on his hips.

It felt deliciously obscene. He was mostly clothed, folded over the bonnet, being _fucked_. He could feel the smears of oil and dirt on his skin and he loved it. He couldn’t wait for Crowley to come inside of him, make a mess of him entirely.

With a groan and final thrust, Crowley was fully seated inside him. Aziraphale felt a steady weight on his back as Crowley leaned forward, one gloved hand coming to circle his throat, lifting him up and back so that he twisted into a messy kiss.

Then Crowley started to move and it burned and hurt and felt so good, his prick bobbing against the metal of the car, another point of painful stimulation.

"Harder," he said, pressing his hips back against Crowley. The hands on his hips tightened as Crowley paused. And then he pulled out. Aziraphale clenched around nothing, whining at the sudden absence. Crowley slammed back inside and his new pace was brutal. Perfect. Aziraphale could feel his body shake with the impact, the car squeaking slightly with each thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping filled his ears and he let himself drift in the sensation.

He’d been so close to coming under Crowley’s clever tongue, but he’d always love this. Being fucked. The fact that it was Crowley—clever, sweet, gorgeous Crowley—fucking him made his toes curl as his orgasm gathered at the base of his cock, intense and overwhelming.

He could hear Crowley grunting with the effort of trying to maintain the pace that Aziraphale had demanded, and Aziraphale barely had time to reach down and wrap his hand around his cock before he was coming, spending himself onto the car and his own belly.

"Jesus, fuck." Crowley’s hips stuttered as Aziraphale helplessly spasmed around him, orgasm drawn out, tight as a bow string. "Did you just -"

"Yes, don’t stop."

So Crowley didn’t. Aziraphale didn’t know how long it lasted but finally Crowley came on a long groan and Aziraphale felt his legs shake behind him as Crowley collapsed onto his back for a brief moment before pulling out.

Aziraphale moaned and rose up on his elbows, ready to stand and try to put himself together but a strong hand pushed him back down. He heard a rustling behind him and then Crowley’s hands were on his arse and that clever tongue was licking him again.

* * *

Crowley had always loved doing this. Soothing the place he’d just fucked with his tongue, lapping up the evidence. It made his body burn with pride and possessiveness. This was his. This was trust and intimacy.

He’d barely settled in before Aziraphale was pulling away, tugging at his shoulders and dragging him up into a kiss. It was filthy, tasting of his own spend and spit, but Aziraphale moaned around his tongue, sucking it greedily into his mouth.

They kissed until they had to separate to breathe and Crowley realized his legs ached. When he looked at Aziraphale, he saw come drying on his jumper. The hem had dirty smudges from Crowley’s hands. He was a mess. The sight was like lightning, a live wire, Crowley’s entire body electrified. It shouldn’t have been possible and yet he ached to be inside him again.

"I got you dirty," Crowley choked out, words glass on gravel. A strange sense of deja vu settled around him as he tugged on one of Aziraphale’s shirt tails.

"I am not complaining in the least," Aziraphale said, oddly breathless as he leaned his weight against Crowley.

Crowley took it easily, glad to have Aziraphale in his arms.

"Though I do think this may have ruined our lunch plans," Aziraphale said wryly when he pulled away to begin putting himself back together.

Crowley tugged off his overalls the rest of the way. He’d only worn them to stay clean enough for lunch. Ironic that.

He peeled off the gloves and threw them in the trash, warring with himself before saying, "I can close for the day. We can go back to yours. Get you cleaned up. I could cook."

Aziraphale eyebrows drew up, forehead wrinkling adorably. His face was smudged, the tip of his nose dirtied. Crowley wanted to cradle his cheeks in his hands, wash away the dirt and kiss him.

"Would that be—I wouldn’t want you to close on my account."

"Business is slow," Crowley said dismissively and when Aziraphale bit his lip, clearly considering, Crowley pressed what he hoped was his advantage. "If we go to yours I can have you again in the shower."

Aziraphale's eyes darkened and Crowley abruptly realized he was playing with fire.

"You’d like that, wouldn’t you," Aziraphale said, mouth curling mischievously. Crowley nodded, cheeks growing hot at the sight of that expression. It promised all sorts of filthy things. Things Crowley didn’t even think he could imagine.

"I could get my hands on you," Aziraphale began, advancing on Crowley and running his hands over his black t-shirt. "See to you properly. Wash your pretty hair. I bet you look fetching with it wet."

Aziraphale’s eyes were glittering as they danced over Crowley’s face and Crowley had to push away the urge to hide.

Aziraphale kissed him, soft and full of enough affection that Crowley’s stomach lost its hold on gravity.

"My place then? Fifteen?"

Crowley nodded dumbly and watched Aziraphale go. He turned back to the car and blushed. He’d never had to wash come off of a bonnet but there was a first time for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if y'all thought id write a mechanic AU and not include sex on a car ...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator

Aziraphale drove back to his house, unable to stop thinking about Crowley. He could still feel the sensation of Crowley’s hands on his body, holding him down on top of the car. His stomach jerked with arousal. It was going to be something he replayed in his mind on lonely nights. The look on Crowley’s face when Aziraphale had ran his hands through his short hair. The sound of his voice when he’d said _face the car_.

He’d only just arrived and taken off his shoes when there was a knock at the door. Crowley.

Seeing Crowley again was like a punch to the gut. He stood in Aziraphale’s doorway, hip cocked as he leaned against the door jamb, a devastating combination of angles and shadows.

He was wearing his sunglasses again and the effect was dazzling. With his shorter hair, Crowley's cheekbones were even sharper, the planes of his face emphasized. The way his hair flopped onto his forehead made Aziraphale’s stomach flutter.

Unsure of where to start—he wanted so much—Aziraphale tugged him inside and kissed him. Crowley sighed into his mouth, a quiet unintentional thing.

"Shower?" Crowley asked, hands hovering beside Aziraphale’s neck, not touching. Why he was hesitating, Aziraphale had no idea.

"Yes," Aziraphale said. He wanted to focus. To get Crowley in the confines of the shower, clean him up, sink to his knees and suck his cock. But he also wanted to tear Crowley’s clothes off right here.

"Shirt off," Aziraphale demanded, plucking at the hem of Crowley shirt which was immediately torn over his head and tossed aside.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, tracing the lines of Crowley's chest with his eyes. He looked good enough to eat. He always did. The ginger spray of hair on his chest tapered over his belly and disappeared in the waistband of his jeans. His hands were slightly dirty, the way they always were, and he had a black streak over his chin. Aziraphale’s blood was rushing in his ears and his heart was working overtime. He wanted Crowley so much.

"Not that I don't enjoy being ogled but..."

Aziraphale jumped to attention. "Right. Yes. Come along."

He heard the thud of Crowley's boots as he toed them off before the soft padding of socked feet following behind him.

Aziraphale turned on the shower, the spray guttering to life as he put his hand under it, testing the temperature. He jumped when Crowley's cool hands slid under his jumper and over his sides, long, lean body coming up behind him as Crowley pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck. His mouth was hot against Aziraphale’s skin.

Turning his head, he let Crowley capture his mouth. Aziraphale realized his sunglasses were gone as their noses bumped.

Aziraphale broke the kiss and turned in Crowley’s arms. He spied the black glasses on the edge of his sink and the sight knocked the air from his lungs. They looked like they belonged there. Like maybe Crowley would come home after a long day at the garage and take off his glasses, leave them on the sink before going back into the house in search of Aziraphale.

Crowley didn't notice his distraction, just kissed him again, hands going to his hips and kneading the flesh there appreciatively. His stubble scraped over Aziraphale’s chin, a delicious burn.

"Why've you still got clothes on?" Crowley asked as he started to kiss Aziraphale’s jaw, nuzzling over the spot he seemed to like so much.

He let Crowley pull his jumper over his head, watched his eyes grow dark as Crowley slipped the braces off his shoulders 

"S’like I get to unwrap you," he said, thumbing open the button on Aziraphale’s trousers and then pulling out his shirt tails. The touch of Crowley’s knuckles on the underside of his belly made his muscles clench in anticipation. He wasn't sure if he could get hard again but he was so looking forward to getting his hands on Crowley. As good as it had been at the garage, they had been mostly clothed and Aziraphale couldn't stop thinking about every inch of Crowley’s gorgeous skin. 

Aziraphale tipped his head back and let Crowley lick over his pulse, kissing his collarbone as he continued to undress him.

"Clean you up," Crowley murmured as he pushed Aziraphale's shirt off his shoulders. 

They removed each others’ clothes, messily trading kisses before Aziraphale tore back the shower curtain and they both stumbled into the spray, refusing to stop touching long enough to move more gracefully.

Crowley laughed when the water hit his back. It was a glorious sound, loud and unselfconscious. It made Aziraphale realize how often Crowley held himself back, how performative his relaxation was. This was Crowley. Real with no theatrics.

Crowley was still laughing when Aziraphale kissed him. Water ran down their faces and slicked their mouths but Crowley didn’t seem to care, parting his lips against Aziraphale’s as he smoothed his hair back, dragging out the kiss. Aziraphale sighed into it, relaxing into the sensation for a moment before pulling away.

He had a goal and that was to get his hand in Crowley’s hair and he was absolutely going to succeed. Slipping his hands into the wet strands, Aziraphale smiled when Crowley leaned into the touch.

"I like this," Aziraphale said quietly. "So lovely."

Crowley’s eyes opened. His eyelashes were stuck together. "I thought you liked my long hair."

"I like your hair however it is," Aziraphale said, feeling a bit raw. Like he was admitting too much.

Crowley whined deep in his chest, tugging Aziraphale against his body. He was hard, cock rubbing against Aziraphale’s hip.

The hot water ran down their skin, steaming the space between them. Crowley ran his hands over Aziraphale’s chest and made a noise low in his throat as he traced the black marks on his belly.

“I marked you up,” Crowley said, staring at the stains on Aziraphale’s body. His heart skipped a bit at the gravel in Crowley’s voice, evidence of how affected he was. 

Aziraphale slid his hands over Crowley’s sides, feeling the pull of his muscles. Desire curled through him, hot and needy. 

"Soap?" Crowley asked, voice tight. "Let me..."

Aziraphale handed him the bar of soap, watching as he ran it over his hands, a white lather slicking his finger. His hands, oh, his hands, Aziraphale’s stomach swooped. Those wide palms, long fingers, the strong bones of his knuckles. There was an auburn spray of hair across his wrist that decorated the back of his hand. They were the sort of hands people painted. Hands that could be photographed and put in a gallery for people to appreciate. They were made of strength and sinew and Aziraphale wanted to feel them on his skin.

Then those soap-covered hands were on his chest, rubbing through his chest hair and down over his belly. The smell of sandalwood filled the bathroom and his cock stirred between his legs. Aziraphale was certain he wouldn’t be able to get hard after what happened in the garage, but it all felt so good.

Crowley grasped his hips and switched their positions so that water ran down Aziraphale’s chest, rinsing the suds off his chest and letting them run over his body.

Crowley kissed his neck again, one hand coming to cup his chest, lightly swiping the pad of his thumb over Aziraphale’s nipple. 

His stomach tightened at the sensation. Crowley kissed down his chest and then took his nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. Aziraphale grasped at the wall. He’d never thought of his chest as particularly sensitive, but Crowley seemed able to awaken every undiscovered nerve ending in his body.

Crowley pulled back, hair plastered to his forehead. He was grinning wickedly. "Liked that, did you?"

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Turn around," Crowley said, running the back of his knuckles down Aziraphale’s side.

Aziraphale hurried to obey and then Crowley’s soaped hands were sliding over his spine, his arse. Crowley’s fingers drifted between his buttocks and he hissed, jerking away.

"Too sensitive," he gasped out. Crowley hummed behind him and dropped to his knees.

"Maybe this will make you feel better," he said, voice husky.

Then his tongue was where his fingers had been, soft and almost cool compared to the heat of the water on his skin.

"Fuck," Aziraphale said, bracing his weight against the wall as Crowley tugged his hips back. "You’re quite—ah—good at this."

Crowley hummed again, kneading the flesh of his arse as he licked him delicately, more of a soothing flutter than anything close to what he’d done in the garage.

Aziraphale felt drowned in sensation. He felt cared for.

Suffice it to say, they didn’t leave the shower until the water ran cold.

* * *

Crowley pattered into the kitchen, feeling a bit of a mess. But a relaxed mess.

He’d tugged on his briefs and one of Aziraphale’s undershirts, secretly liking the way it enveloped him, smelling like Aziraphale and making Crowley feel like he was being held. Bit sentimental, that. 

Crowley tugged open the refrigerator and hummed. He should have gone to the shops before coming over. He’d just been a bit focused. Or distracted. Depended on how you wanted to view it.

But Aziraphale had butter and milk, and when Crowley sifted through his pantry he found some store bought pasta. 

It was better than nothing.

Out of habit, Crowley reached back to tie his hair up, encountering nothing. His stomach squirmed with discomfort for a moment, history overlaying reality.

Aziraphale had liked his hair. He’d walked into the garage and acted like Crowley had made a wonderful decision. Like it wasn’t some silly, impulsive thing for Crowley to go and nearly shave the sides of his head.

Crowley put the water pot on the burner, metal connecting with a clank. 

Aziraphale liked him, trusted him, wanted him to be happy. It felt entirely new. Entirely perfect.

"Crowley, are you—"

Crowley turned around just in time to catch Aziraphale staring at him. Aziraphale’s hair was still damp, curls barely formed. He’d changed into pyjama bottoms and a white undershirt, a copy of the one Crowley had pilfered, except it fit Aziraphale perfectly. Crowley could see the patch of blonde chest hair where the shirt collar dipped into a V, the soft spread of his arms, the white shirt hugging his bicep so just a hint of muscle was on display. Aziraphale’s body was not corded or tight. All his strength was hidden beneath something soft and beautiful and was all the more exciting for it. 

Crowley licked his lips and tried to find something to say.

Aziraphale approached him slowly and then threaded his hands in the fabric of his own shirt where it draped loosely over Crowley's waist.

Then those hands were grasping the bones of his hips and lifting him up. Crowley experienced a heady moment of weightlessness before he was deposited on the counter, Aziraphale slotting himself between Crowley's legs as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

Aziraphale tugged down the collar of Crowley's shirt, biting down on his collarbone and circling Crowley’s waist with his hands. His back arched as he pressed into the sensation. He might get a love bite but, fuck, it was worth it.

"I think you may need to warn me if you're going to go around wearing my clothes," Aziraphale said in a low voice, almost a growl. Crowley’s stomach squirmed and he let his head fall back against the cupboards as Aziraphale slipped his hand under the hem.

"You look quite fetching." Aziraphale continued rubbing circles over Crowley’s hips with his thumb. And then his hands were grasping Crowley's buttocks and tugging him forward so Crowley’s pelvis was pressed against him. His cock was half-hard in his drawers. He’d already come twice today but his prick didn't seem to get the memo. Any time spent in Aziraphale’s presence seemed enough to wind him back up.

"Mm," Aziraphale hummed, cocking his head in a show of consideration. "You look like you could use a little attention."

He stroked the line of Crowley's cock with his thumb, the texture of his briefs scratching over the sensitive skin.

"Fuck!" Crowley's hands slammed down on the worktop as his hips jerked. He was oversensitive, overstimulated, and yet Aziraphale wouldn't stop touching him. Crowley didn’t want him to.

"Is that too much, darling?" Aziraphale asked, not letting up on the steady circles that made Crowley’s toes curl.

Darling. Fucking _darling_.

Crowley's chest was too small for his heart and all he could do was lunge forward and wrap himself around Aziraphale, kissing him fiercely, ankles hooking behind his back. Aziraphale grunted at the sudden change of weight but simply pushed him back further onto the worktop.

 _Darling_.

Crowley felt a matching hardness pressed against his belly. He was learning that Aziraphale took a bit longer to recover after coming but this was perfect. He wanted to…

He let his legs fall to either side of Aziraphale’s hips and with shaking hands—fuck, they shouldn’t be shaking (darling)—Crowley undid the tie to Aziraphale’s pajama bottoms. He pulled them down until he could stroke Aziraphale’s cock with his hand. 

Aziraphale groaned against his throat, a damp exhalation over his Adam's apple. It sent thrills of success down his spine.

“I was going to suck you,” Aziraphale gasped, thrusting up into his hand. “You liked dirtying me up, wanted you to come on my face.”

Crowley pictured it, his own spend covering Aziraphale’s mouth, dripping down over the soft fold of his skin under his chin. Being able to clean it up with his tongue.

“Fuck,” he groaned, moving his hand faster. Aziraphale sucked a breath in through his teeth.

“Give me your hand,” Aziraphale said, staying his movement by grabbing his wrist and bringing it up to his mouth. He laved Crowley’s palm with his tongue, sucked his fingers into his mouth until they were dripping. All Crowley could do was stare, watch his fingers disappear between those sinfully pink lips. 

Aziraphale pulled his hand away and spit into the center of Crowley’s palm, guiding it back between them and wrapping Crowley’s hand around his own cock.

His eyes fluttered shut as Crowley began to stroke him. Crowley’s heart was going haywire. Aziraphale was so gorgeous like this, damp hair, spit slick mouth, flushed cheeks. 

Then Aziraphale was pushing his hand away and Crowley groaned at the loss of the weight of him in his hand.

“Come here,” Aziraphale said, grabbing him and tugging him off the counter until his feet hit the ground. He gripped the fabric of his briefs and pulled them down, shoving up the hem of his shirt so he could slide their cocks together.

The counter pressed against his back and he was overwhelmed by Aziraphale’s presence as he guided Crowley’s hands. Aziraphale was staring between them, mouth slightly open as his chest heaved but Crowley couldn’t tear his eyes from Aziraphale’s face. He wanted to memorize the way he looked like this but there were stars forming behind his eyes, the sensation of Aziraphale’s cock against his too much, slicked by his spit and Crowley’s precome leaking between them.

Crowley swore as he came, orgasm pulled out of him slowly. He hadn’t had three orgasms in one day since...ever, and watching Aziraphale fist his cock, slicked with Crowley’s spend was enough to make his ears ring with renewed want.

Would this feeling ever fade? This need to get closer, to get his hands on Aziraphale, to possess him entirely.

Aziraphale groaned, come dribbling weakly from the tip of his cock and joining Crowley’s over their fists.

Then Aziraphale’s clean hand was on his chest, holding him in place so he could kiss him again. His lips were swollen but every point of overstimulation only made him want more. It reminded Crowley he would feel this tomorrow. 

They were interrupted by an angry hissing and Aziraphale looked to the left before bursting into laughter. 

“I see you were boiling water,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head as he went to wash his hands under the kitchen taps.

Crowley snagged a tea towel and cleaned himself up. “The only food you have in this house is prepackaged pasta. I can only do so much.”

He knocked Aziraphale away from the sink with a bump of his hip and Aziraphale scowled at him, something playful in his eyes. 

“I suppose I can manage some pasta with white sauce. Will that meet your needs?” Crowley asked, dragging out the word between his teeth, a tease.

Aziraphale kissed his cheek. "That sounds lovely, darling."

Fuck.

* * *

Aziraphale was lost in what was perhaps a haze of happiness. Crowley had stayed at his place the night before. They were both tired from the day so they curled together in bed. Crowley dropped off first and Aziraphale discovered he made little snuffling sounds in his sleep.

It was only after Crowley left early in the morning, grumbling about never staying over when Aziraphale had an 8 AM that Aziraphale realized they needed to talk.

This was...this was perhaps the best thing in Aziraphale’s life at the moment and he wanted to grasp it with both hands.

Bugger expectations and bugger his anxieties.

He needed to sit Crowley down and say how he felt. Put a name to this relationship. He wanted to be certain they were exclusive, that Crowley was his as much as he was Crowley’s. He wanted to be safe giving his heart away. 

Aziraphale was studiously answering emails—students really did need to read the syllabus—when a knock drew his attention. He looked up and saw Gabriel standing in the doorway.

Nerves crept up the back of his neck, giving him goosebumps as he forced a polite smile.

"Hello, Gabriel, how can I help you?

For the first time in their 5 year acquaintance, Gabriel looked harried.

“Aziraphale, hello. Good weekend?” he asked and it was very clear by his rushed tone he didn’t care for the answer.

“It was alright,” Aziraphale asked, concern rising in him. He might not like Gabriel but he wasn’t a complete monster and the man was obviously distressed. “Are you well?”

Gabriel passed a hand over his face, grimacing. “Look, I’ll be straight with you. Michael was supposed to go to the conference in Edinburgh but her kid got the flu. I need someone to represent the university and I was hoping you were available.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. Michael always went to the Edinburgh conference because she was Gabriel’s favorite. If he was considering sending Aziraphale that meant…

“I’m available,” he said immediately. “That’s quite...that’s quite an honor.”

Gabriel waved him off. “I’d go myself but I wasn’t planning on an absence and I can’t make the time. I just need someone to rub elbows. Shmooze a bit. I know that’s not your scene…”

“I’ll do my best,” Aziraphale said, squaring his shoulders. He was already fantasizing about the presentations. The panels. Hearing about the latest research firsthand and not from Michael when she reported on the conference. His heart was racing at the possibility.

Gabriel smiled, finally relaxing slightly. “I knew I could count on you. You sure you’re not busy? I know you’ve been seeing someone and—”

“I’ll reschedule,” Aziraphale rushed to say. He didn’t want to discuss this at all. Yes, things with Crowley were new and potentially serious, but that could wait. It was just five days and then they could sit down and talk. Really talk.

Gabriel’s smile widened. “Good ol’ Aziraphale. This will go a long way on your performance review. I’ll make sure to bring it up when we review your professorship application. Reliability is extremely important to us and you’ve really shown a lot of loyalty to this institution. That goes a long way.”

Aziraphale stared after Gabriel as he marched out of the office. He began to rearrange his week in his mind. He’d have to cancel classes, perhaps assign more reading. Definitely discuss a rescheduling of the second attempt at Anathema’s dinner party.

He also most certainly needed to talk to Crowley.

* * *

Crowley was starting to think Bee knew exactly what happened in the garage. They were acting weird, hedging Crowley’s questions about what they had done with their day off.

He didn’t want to push too much because he was certain he’d confess. Every time he looked at the sodding Volvo he thought about having Aziraphale on top of it.

It had been a good weekend. So far beyond good that Crowley struggled to describe it.

After their late lunch, he and Aziraphale had cuddled together on the bed, telling each other stories. He learned about Aziraphale's parents and his first boyfriend. Crowley had avoided the topic but finally confessed that his parents had kicked him out. It had been easier than he thought and Aziraphale's eyes had flashed before he declared Crowley's parents bastards. Crowley had laughed at that. For the first time in a long time.

And when they had gotten ready for bed, Crowley found the toothbrush Aziraphale had given him still set in the medicine cabinet.

He must have looked gobsmacked because Aziraphale had thrown out his floss and asked, "What's wrong?"

"You kept the toothbrush," he had said as if that explained anything.

Aziraphale's eyebrows had drawn together so Crowley added, "It's just...we fought. I thought you'd...I dunno. Toss it out and say ‘bugger Crowley’."

Aziraphale had brushed his fingers over the back of his hand and said, "It's probably silly but I've never been good at giving up on things I care about."

Crowley had been fairly drunk on that confession for the rest of the evening. Toothbrushes were going to make his heart race from now until eternity. 

He was in the middle of eating his lunch when his phone went off. He thumbed open the screen and frowned at the text message.

_I have a last minute obligation for work and will be leaving tomorrow and not returning until Sunday. I was hoping we could meet when I return as I have a few things I would like to discuss._

Crowley’s stomach twisted into several complicated knots. 

_Everything alright?_ He typed out after setting down his sandwich and forcing himself to stay calm. He couldn’t keep jumping to the worst conclusions.

_Yes! I’ve had a very exciting professional opportunity! Perhaps Sunday evening I could come over and tell you about it?_

Relief slid through Crowley like cool water. It wasn’t that sort of conversation.

Hopefully.

_Absolutely. Tell me what you’re in the mood for. I’ll cook._

Crowley had no idea who taught him about emojis but Aziraphale replied with a series of them that made Crowley blush. Aziraphale was set to kill him at this rate. And Crowley was going to love every second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there might be a delay in posting the next chapter but I hope you enjoyed!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator who gave me a lot of emotional insight for this chapter
> 
> please enjoy this isolation treat
> 
> CW: professional stress, reference to past homophobia (and one instance of veiled homophobia)

Aziraphale packed his bags, excitement and nerves making his heart flutter. He'd never been to the Edinburgh conference and he didn't want to make a fool of himself or have something get back to Gabriel that would misrepresent the university. Despite that, he couldn’t stop thinking of what an amazing opportunity this was. 

He zipped up his suitcase and hauled himself to his car, happy to be driving instead of dealing with all the machinations of airports and the like. It was a six hour trip but Aziraphale didn’t mind overmuch.

He pulled out his phone to text Anathema and saw an unopened text from Crowley.

Flipping it open, he couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face.

_Have a safe trip_

Aziraphale leaned against his car door and typed out a reply.

_I’ll text you when I arrive safely._

_Good_.

He grinned and switched to Anathema’s contact information. She had last sent him a horoscope and he rolled his eyes.

_I am about to leave._

_I've got your class on lock_

Aziraphale shook his head. He was thankful Anathema had been willing to cover his Latin classes but at what cost.

He was most certainly going to return to a class with far too many questions about the New Aquarian magazines Anathema liked to peddle.

With a final inventory of his luggage, Aziraphale slipped into his car and set off north.

* * *

Crowley twitched his way through the work day, firmly reminding himself of Aziraphale’s sweet goodnight text and all the happy ones after he had arrived. He didn’t want to linger on the “we need to talk” text. It couldn't be what Crowley was thinking. He was _over_ thinking. Like he always did. Best not.

Yanking out the oil funnel from the engine, Crowley nearly hit his head on the open bonnet when he heard Bee swearing up a storm in the office.

Disgruntled, Crowley marched over to the door and said, "Oi, what’s going on?"

Bee’s head snapped up and they slammed their phone face down on the desk

"Nothing."

Crowley frowned. "Obviously not. You’ve been all jumpy since Monday. Cough up."

Bee leaned back in the squeaky desk chair and then forward again, elbows coming to rest on the desk.

Crowley’s heart jumped into his throat. Bee didn’t get nervous like this. It had to be something terrible. Something like... "It’s not about Luc, is it?"

Bee bared their teeth. "No. Fuck, no. I’d have told you."

"Then what’s got you—"

Bee interrupted him with an angry growl. "I’m sort of seeing someone, alright? It’s not a big deal."

Crowley dropped the rag in his hands which only earned him a glare from Bee. As long as he’d known them, they'd never dated. He couldnt speak for their sex life; maybe they were asexual or used one of those apps or even picked people up at bars. If anyone could manage it, Bee could. They’d never been one to hesitate or be nervous.

Until now apparently.

"Don’t look at me like that," Bee sneered. "I didn’t even point out your hickeys on Monday."

Crowley failed to fight down a blush. "What does _sort of_ mean?

"What?" Bee asked, nose wrinkling.

"Sort of seeing someone, you said."

Bee kicked at the desk in frustration, the outburst pushing them back with a pathetic squeak of ancient wheels.

"It was a one night stand that sort of...ballooned. Not the plan, Crowley. Opposite of the plan."

Maybe Crowley was still lost in affection for Aziraphale and the haze of a potential relationship, so instead of commiserating, he said, "I dunno, maybe that’s good. If you like them and all."

Bee groaned again. "I don’t fucking know. They’re the most insufferable person I’ve ever met and I just...let’s not talk about it."

Crowley didn't want to drop it but he shrugged and let Bee drag him out of the office and into disassembling a spare engine. When they finished up the work, Crowley tried to do what he thought Bee would do if he were having a bad week: he texted Hastur and set up an impromptu pub night for Friday.

Crowley didn't have plans and it seemed Bee needed a distraction.

* * *

The first night of the conference was a mixer in the hotel ballroom. Aziraphale wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

Aziraphale used to think he would find kindred spirits at things like this but in general they were judgmental, boring people more like Gabriel than Aziraphale. Gregarious intellectual types who wanted to be the smartest person in the room. They weren’t all like that, but Aziraphale found it difficult to make friends with those sorts of people.

After making polite rounds to introduce himself, he stopped at the bar and pulled out his phone—he’d known these smart phones would be a distraction—and reread Crowley's last text. When Aziraphale had messaged him that he had arrived safely and was headed to the mixer, Crowley replied, _I know you professor types get rowdy so don't get too sozzled_

Aziraphale ordered a glass of red wine and thought about replying. Perhaps something flirtatious. For a moment, he wished Crowley was beside him. Someone to joke with as they poked fun at the room at large.

"Dr. Fell?"

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold and he set down his glass so that he wouldn’t drop it. The hair on his arms was prickling. His fight or flight response was doing all sorts of things to his pulse as he did his best to smile while he turned to greet his old department chair.

"Dr. Sandalphon."

The man gave him a snaggletoothed smile that made Aziraphale’s stomach turn. He hated Sandalphon. If he could put money on it, Aziraphale would bet Sandalphon had been responsible for his less than friendly dismissal from his last position.

"Where are you working these days?" Sandalphon asked, polite as anything. As if he didn't notice the way Aziraphale’s hand clenched into a fist.

"Tadfield University," Aziraphale said, surprising himself by his ability to stay polite.

"Oh the department head...he's Winger if I recall."

"Gabriel, yes," Aziraphale said.

Sandalphon nodded, beady, rat eyes darting around the room. "I’m certainly glad you found somewhere to fit in."

Aziraphale gave him an icy smile. "Quite."

"It was good to see you," Sandalphon said, sounding insincere as he collected his drink order. "I’m sure we'll run into each other around the conference."

"Yes, I’m sure." Aziraphale aaid, pursing his lips so he wouldn't grimace.

Sandalphon wandered off and Aziraphale left his wine glass, marching out of the room without looking back. He felt exhausted from the exchange. It brought up all those memories from years ago. The frustration, the shame. The hopelessness.

His evening was most certainly ruined.

* * *

Crowley picked up his phone and unlocked the screen. Turned it off and put it down. Picked it up again.

Sighing, he kicked his bare feet up onto his coffee table as he sank into the couch cushions. He was going to do it. Pathetic as it was—Aziraphale had only been gone for a day—he was going to call him.

He opened up their text chain and hit the call button, heart beating so hard that it hurt.

"Crowley? I didn't expect you to call," Aziraphale said, sounding harried. Crowley's heart smashed against the wall of his ribs over and over, refusing to settle. This had been a mistake. He was being too much.

"Ah, sorry. Just...if you’re busy we can chat later."

"No, no," Aziraphale said and Crowley heard some rustling through the line. "Not busy. Simply frustrated. I’m glad you called."

Frowning, Crowley sat up. "Frustrated. Thought you were all excited about this conference. I'm fairly sure you called it an amazing professional opportunity. With an exclamation mark."

"Yes, well, that's still true but I ran into...I ran into an old colleague and it brought up some bad memories. But I’m back in my room now."

Crowley hesitated. "Want to tell me about it?"

There was a shushing sound as Aziraphale exhaled, long and slow. "You know, I think I’d rather hear about your day. A bit of a distraction if you will."

Protectiveness surged through Crowley. He didn't want Aziraphale to sound like that. Downtrodden. He wanted that sparkly laugh, that curl in his voice that Crowley heard whenever Aziraphale wanted him.

He swallowed. Maybe that was…

"Are you in bed, angel?"

"What?" Aziraphale asked, sounding startled, but there was a rustling of cloth that made Crowley certain he was right.

"I’m on my couch. Had a long day today," Crowley began, shifting in his seat. A heat was building in his gut, shocking in intensity. "Taking apart an engine. I was filthy. Had to strip right when I got inside."

He heard Aziraphales breathing waver and was struck with a thrill of pride. 

"Di-did you," Aziraphale stammered and Crowley could picture him, biting his lip, cheeks beginning to stain the slightest pink. Like a perfectly ripe apple. Ready for a bite.

Crowley sat up and braced his elbows on his knees, his nerves about calling Aziraphale falling away now that he had a purpose. Distract Aziraphale.

He had a strategy too. A damn good one. 

"Do you ever have those days where a shower is the best thing you can imagine?"

He could hear Aziraphale’s breathing change tempo. A shuffling, a rearranging. 

"The shower felt so good. It made me think of you."

Aziraphale inhaled sharply and Crowley grinned. Was this how Aziraphale felt whenever he said filthy things? Fuck, it was good.

"I didn't touch myself though. Was too dirty for it. But now…”

Crowley licked his lips and waited, listening to Aziraphale’s steady breathing before he added, "Do you remember that time in the car?" 

Crowley caught his breath. Held it. Either Aziraphale wanted this or—

"Oh yes, that was—that was quite good."

"I thought maybe you could…"

"Yes?"

"Talk me through it. Would you like that?"

Aziraphale let out a soft delighted _oh._ "Are you touching yourself?"

"No," Crowley said. The truth. "But I’ve been hard since you answered the phone."

Aziraphale scoffed. "Quite the fib."

"Wouldn’t lie to you, angel."

Crowley heard a sharp inhalation. He could picture the look on Aziraphale’s face, sharp-eyed and determined. Heat surged between his legs. 

"Don't touch yourself until I say so."

"You can't stop me," Crowley said, grinning. He wouldn't do it but it was fun to rile Aziraphale up.

"Perhaps, but I’m certain you won’t," Aziraphale replied, heart curling through his voice like smoke. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?”

Crowley's cock strained hopefully in his jeans. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You got me. I won’t do anything unless you tell me to.”

“Very good.” 

Crowley could practically hear the short nod, could see the dip of Aziraphale chin. He bit his lip to cut off the sharp desire to touch Aziraphale. It wouldn’t do any good.

"Why don't you tell me what you're wearing," Aziraphale prompted easily. As if they weren’t about to have phone sex. Something Crowley hadn’t even put on his list of interests before this exact moment.

"What I always wear. Tell me about you. Want to picture it."

Aziraphale sighed. "I’m in a light blue pyjama set. Not terribly exciting.”

"The ones with the stripes?" 

"No. Solid color."

"Unbutton your shirt."

"Aren’t I supposed to be—"

"I want to picture you on your hotel bed. Shirt undone. I’d be able to see your stomach and chest. I’d bite it. Kiss it. I bet you look gorgeous right now. Is the light on?" Crowley asked, already building a pretty picture in his mind.

"Just the side lamp," Aziraphale said, a slight hitch in his voice.

“Good. I’d be able to see you.”

A small shuddering breath. A pause.

"Your turn,” Aziraphale said quietly.

"Fine. Black jeans. Black shirt."

"Long or short sleeves?"

"Long. S’cold out."

"Hmm. Push up the hem and run your fingers through the hair on your stomach. Carefully. Like you think I would."

Crowley obeyed immediately. He wished it was Aziraphale’s hand but it was somehow tantalizing. Like a promise.

"Unbutton your flies. But no touching."

"Wouldn’t dare."

Crowley did as he was told, carefully avoiding touching himself too much, just the brush of his knuckles enough to make him gasp.

"Take off your trousers for me, darling. Pants too."

 _Darling_ still sent thrills through Crowley, but he had the presence of mind to obey until he was half naked on the couch.

"If I were there with you, what would you want?"

Crowley shuddered and tried to pick just one of the many fantasies swirling in his mind.

"Your hands first," he stuttered out. Fuck, he’d set out to distract Aziraphale and now...

"Alright. I think I'd like to touch your thighs. They’re so lovely, that soft hair. Would you like that?"

"Yes.” Crowley fisted his hands beside his thighs and tried to control his breathing. “Yes."

"Why don't you touch your thighs the way you'd like if it were me?"

Crowley ran the tips of his fingers over his legs, a slight tickle that made his cock twitch. "Maybe you could hold me down while you..."

A shocked inhalation. "Oh, Crowley, I’d love to. I’d climb into your lap and push you into the cushions. I’d hold onto your shoulders. Keep you in place for me."

“Fuck,” Crowley gasped. He felt precome pulse onto his stomach. He could practically feel Aziraphale’s weight, the strength of his hands. "Is that all?"

"Of course not. I think I’d like to kiss your neck. I know how much you like that. I think you’d have trouble controlling yourself, wouldn’t you? You’d start to move beneath me but no, I’d put my hands in your hair and hold you still so I could kiss you as much as I like."

"You’d feel so good in my lap," Crowley said. His hips were rolling up into nothing as he felt the ghost of Aziraphale on top of him.

"Would you want to fuck me like this? I could take my pyjamas off and ride you."

Crowley nearly dropped the phone as arousal shot through him. "Fuck. Jesus."

"I'm touching myself," Aziraphale said. Crowley heard a sharp hitch in his breath. "Are you?"

"Said I couldn't," Crowley said as he looked down at his leaking prick. A small puddle of precome had formed on his belly. 

"I did, didn't I? You did so well, darling,” Aziraphale said, a slight shudder in his voice. “Touch yourself for me.”

Crowley ran his thumb through the precome on his stomach and used it to slick the way as he took himself in hand. The sheer relief at the contact had him shaking immediately and he groaned embarrassingly loud.

"How does it feel?"

"God, so good. Wish it was you."

"When I get back I'm going to ride you just like this. I’d hold you down and fuck myself on you until my legs give out. But you won’t come before I tell you, will you? Not before I do. You’ll take care of me. You’ll make me feel so good, darling."

Aziraphale was gasping now, huffs and little moans dropping through the phone line. Crowley couldn’t believe his ears, Aziraphale’s words making his vision blur as blood rushed to his cheeks. 

“Fuck, of course I’ll take care of. You first, angel. Come. Please,” Crowley choked out. He needed to hear it. He needed to know Aziraphale was just as far gone as he was.

"Ah—I’m—” 

Aziraphale’s gasps were loud in Crowley’s ears and the sound made his stomach clench as he spilled over his fist. Aziraphale groaned, a shaking thing and Crowley blinked as he tried to gather the shattered pieces of his thoughts. 

Crowley heard a shuddering breath before a frustrated, "Oh, bother."

Crowley couldn't stop a laugh from bubbling up. "You sound like Winnie the Pooh."

"I’ve gotten come on my pyjamas."

"You should have taken them off."

Aziraphale made a disgruntled sound. "I suppose it was worth it. That was very nice.”

“A good distraction then?” Crowley asked as a stupid grin overtook his face.

“The best.”

Some of the protectiveness swirling through him retreated, banked for now. “I hope tomorrow’s a bit easier for you.”

“It’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

* * *

It was not wonderful.

Aziraphale started out the day feeling hopeful. Crowley was truly the best thing in his life and he couldn’t stop the absurd rushes of gratitude he felt at inopportune moments. 

But that wasn’t what was stressful. No. 

It was Doctor Sandalphon and his ilk. It was having to put on a professional face all day, smile and take business cards and ask pointed questions. Aziraphale had been so excited for the conference and yet he’d forgotten how tiring they could be.

He tried to look on the bright side. At least the seminars were very interesting.

* * *

Aziraphale had spent the last two days exchanging flirtatious texts with him and every single one made Crowley want to print it out and frame it. Say, look, I’m not fucking this up. I’m actually doing a great fucking job.

It was worth celebrating if he did say so himself.

“Come on,” he said as Bee undid the kerchief from their hair and started to pack up. “It’s pub night. You had a shit week. It’s what we do.”

Bee scowled. “I didn’t have a shit week.”

“Right,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I had a good week. Let’s celebrate that.”

That made Bee scowl harder but apparently it was the right tack because they sighed and said, “Fine. You’re buying the first round.”

Crowley was good to his word—he usually was—and when Bee finally had a pint settled in front of them, he struck. “So, tell me about them.”

“No.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows over the rims of his sunglasses. “You give me shit for dating a professor for weeks and you won’t even tell me who you’re dating.”

“Not dating,” Bee pointed out and then added, “Besides, I’m not telling you because you will give me shit.”

Before Crowley could press, Hastur and Ligur walked in, all bumping elbows and too-wide smiles.

Bee jerked their chin at the two of them. “What’s got you two all smiley?”

“We’ve decided,” Hastur began.

“We’ve decided,” Ligur echoed.

“To get married,” they said together.

Crowley and Bee exchanged a look. Well, that was news.

* * *

Crowley texted Aziraphale later that night after he was finally settled in bed.

_Hastur and Ligur are getting married_

_OMG_

Crowley frowned at the screen. _Who taught you OMG?_

_Anathema. I’m going to call you. I want to hear the details._

Crowley’s phone rang and he answered immediately.

“Married?” Aziraphale demanded. “This is very exciting. I do like a bit of gossip. Didn’t you say they’d been together forever? It seems strange to suddenly decide to get married.”

Crowley had asked the same thing but both Hastur and Ligur had shrugged and said it just seemed right.

“Bee and I were a bit confused as well. They just never seemed the marrying kind.”

Aziraphale blew out a long breath. “You must be excited for them. At the very least.”

“I s’pose. Bit weird more than anything,” Crowley replied. “It gets stranger though.”

“Oh really,” Aziraphale said as if Crowley must have the most tantalizing bit of information.

“They said they wanted to have a Christmas wedding. They said it was romantic.”

Aziraphale giggled, clearly delighted. “What a strange pair. I do hope they’re happy though.”

“I’m sure they will be.” Crowley sighed. It was all confusing. Things were changing everywhere. Bee dating someone. Hastur and Ligur getting married. Hell, he was dating someone. Sort of. “They asked after you though. Said you were always welcome at pub night.”

“That’s very sweet.”

“Wouldn’t call them sweet exactly,” Crowley said, trying to fit that descriptor into his understanding of Hastur and Ligur and failing miserably. “Enough about that. How are you?”

Aziraphale let out a long sigh that Crowley didn’t like.

“It’s been exhausting if I’m being honest,” Aziraphale said. “So many people to meet. I never remember how introverted I am until one of these conferences.”

Crowley tipped his head back against the headboard and frowned. “You’ll get through it. One more day, yeah? And then back home.”

“Yes. One more day. Are we still on for Sunday evening?”

“Of course we are.”

Aziraphale sighed happily and they moved on to other topics, talking far too late into the evening, only hanging up when they both started to drift off.

Crowley fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

The last day of the conference was entirely stressful. Despite that, Aziraphale thought he did quite well for himself, made some contacts, and deftly avoided running into Dr. Sandalphon more than was necessary.

But on Saturday, Aziraphale felt confident, more himself. He knew it was in part due to Crowley. Speaking on the phone with him in the evening did something to settle Aziraphale’s restlessness, his fears that he wasn’t good enough to be at the conference.

“It’s stupid they don’t send you every year,” Crowley had said the night before. “Sounds like you’re made for it.”

They hadn’t delved into the same...behavior as Wednesday night again but just the memory of how wrecked Crowley had sounded was enough to distract Aziraphale. He forced himself to put that aside until they could see each other again.

And on Sunday, when he finally checked out and began the long drive back to Tadfield, Aziraphale allowed himself some much needed time to plan exactly what he would say to Crowley when he arrived at his flat. Crowley was becoming too important to him to let him slip away because Aziraphale was afraid.

He had six hours to put himself to rights and he was going to make the most of it.

* * *

Aziraphale texted him on Sunday and said he would be over at 7.

To have the _discussion._

Crowley tried very hard not to read into that as he prepped the rosemary chicken. He mostly succeeded, though he still managed to overthink his way through a shower.

When Aziraphale finally knocked on his door, Crowley opened it, and yes, maybe he'd put off putting on a shirt until Aziraphale arrived because he wanted to see that wide-eyed look on his face.

Except when he opened the door, it was to a very tired, harried-looking Aziraphale. He still looked beautiful, done up in one of his tan jumpers and a blue bow tie, but his hair had clearly been tugged at and the bags under his eyes were darker and heavier.

Crowley didn’t even have a moment to ask if he was alright before Aziraphale was stepping inside. "Good lord," Aziraphale breathed as he placed the flat of his hand on Crowley’s sternum. 

Crowley wondered if the shirtless seduction had been a good plan after all. He took Aziraphale’s hand in his and brought it to his mouth to kiss the backs of his knuckles. “Are you alright?”

Aziraphale’s brow wrinkled and his chin dipped in confusion. “Alright?”

“You look tired,” Crowley said, not unkindly. He was still wrestling with the urge to rip off Aziraphale’s clothes and then immediately wrap him in a warm blanket. “Let me just put a shirt on and we can do dinner."

Aziraphale snatched his hand before Crowley could pull away. “Don’t you dare. I’ve spent nearly a week thinking about getting my hands on you. I’m not going to wait because I’m a little tired.”

Crowley looked at their entwined hands and that same feeling from the night on the telephone returned. He wanted to wrap himself around Aziraphale, heal his aches and pains just by being there. And if Aziraphale wanted…

He sucked in a breath.

“Come here,” he said, tugging Aziraphale closer, slipping his hand from Aziraphale’s grasp so he could palm his nape. He dipped his head and kissed him briefly, the contact like sparks. Like sparks every single time.

“Why don’t you go get comfortable in bed and I’ll take care of things out here?” Crowley said, stepping away.

Aziraphale huffed. “I’m not exactly in the mood to sleep, Crowley.”

Crowley looked at him for a long moment, possessiveness and protectiveness writhing in his chest until he said, “I didn’t say it was to sleep. Now get undressed.”

He felt Aziraphale’s eyes on him as he went into the kitchen to turn off the oven. His heart was hammering in his ears because Aziraphale was here and Crowley was going to take care of him.

Crowley had always liked taking care of people. The problem was that he’d never been in a position to. He’d been a downright mess most of his life and with Luc—Luc had liked to be in control. Crowley had liked that too. But this? This putting everything aside and narrowing his focus entirely onto the person he—

Onto Aziraphale?

It felt right.

* * *

Aziraphale was exhausted. He hadn’t regretted the choice to drive to the conference until he was about two hours away from Tadfield and the entire weekend caught up with him. 

But he had wanted to see Crowley. He’d set a date and he meant to keep it.

Crowley taking one look at him and demanding he go to bed had set off a strange squirming feeling in Aziraphale’s belly. He realized, with something like alarm, that he liked it.

With fumbling hands, Aziraphale undid his bow tie and folded it carefully before placing it on the side table. He pulled his jumper over his head and folded that too. It was old habit, the untucking, the removal, the folding. And in his tired state, he moved by muscle memory.

He was down to his boxers before he even realized it and when he looked up, he saw Crowley leaning in the doorway, staring at him. He fought off the sudden urge to cover himself. The overhead light was on and Crowley was just standing there, shirtless and looking like something out of the pictures. 

Then Crowley stepped into the bedroom.

“Look at you,” Crowley breathed, coming around the bed and placing his hands on Aziraphale’s sides, raking his eyes down Aziraphale’s torso and back to his face. 

Aziraphale tried to say something but he felt stuck, thoughts thick as syrup.

“Let’s get you in bed, pet,” Crowley said, guiding him back against the pillows before he joined him in the bed and kissed him again, this time longer and sweeter than the one in the entryway. “Can I take care of you?” Crowley asked, nuzzling his chest. And when he met Aziraphale’s eyes, the naked hunger there nearly gutted him. “Let me take care of you.”

Aziraphale nodded, still unable to find words. This wasn’t what he thought was going to happen. He was going to come here and sweep Crowley off his feet. Tell him how he felt. Not...not…

Crowley was pressing biting kisses over Aziraphale’s belly, one hand spread over his sternum as he moved over Aziraphale’s body. He was still wearing his jeans and the fabric scraped over the sensitive skin of Aziraphale’s legs. His lips pressed against the ticklish spot above Aziraphale’s hip, making his back arch as he gasped.

Crowley nuzzled that spot too. “What do you want, angel?”

“To touch you,” Aziraphale said, words ripped from him suddenly after so long stoppered.

Crowley’s nostrils flared as he rose up on his knees, already giving him that wicked grin that entirely ruined Aziraphale’s ability to think clearly. “Alright. Where?”

“Here,” Aziraphale said, reaching out one hand to wrap it around Crowley’s hip bone, loving the way it fit perfectly in his palm. He thumbed open the button on Crowley’s jeans and ran his knuckles over the hair under his belly button. “And here.”

Crowley reached down to undo his own flies, allowing Aziraphale more access. Aziraphale’s mouth went dry as he dragged his knuckles over the flat plane of Crowley’s stomach, reached up and cradled the cage of his ribs in his hand. Overwhelmed, he let his hand fall to his side. Crowley curled down to kiss him before sliding off the bed to take off his trousers. Then he was kissing Aziraphale’s belly and hips as he divested Aziraphale of his pants.

“No sock garters today?” Crowley asked as he bent to kiss Aziraphale’s thighs, nipping the sensitive insides.

“Bit uncomfortable for the drive,” Aziraphale gasped out. His chest was heaving like he’d run a marathon. Why was that? He was fine. They’d barely done anything.

Crowley hummed in acknowledgment before pushing Aziraphale’s knees back and moving his ankles so his feet were flat on the bed. He reached out and took Aziraphale’s cock in his hand, stroking it once before taking it into his mouth.

* * *

Crowley decided right then that he loved Aziraphale’s cock, the warm weight of it, the way it stretched his mouth. His own prick ached between his legs but that was for later. 

Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale and saw the way he had his arm tossed over his face, the way that glorious chest was heaving. Snaking a hand under his leg, Crowley ran a soothing hand down the outside of his thigh and hummed around his cock.

Aziraphale’s hips jerked under him and he gasped, “Sorry.”

Crowley pulled back. “S’alright. Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

Aziraphale stared at him and swallowed visibly. He shook his head. “No—I...I like this.”

Crowley ran his hands down Aziraphale’s inner thighs, pushing his thumbs into the muscles that flexed beneath his palms. It made his heart beat faster to feel the makeup of Aziraphale’s body underneath all his beautiful softness. He brushed his thumbs across the place where Aziraphale’s thighs met his pelvis and Aziraphale gasped and pushed down into the touch.

Crowley liked that a great deal, success and possessiveness making his body prickle with want. Chasing that reaction, Crowley brushed his fingers over Aziraphale’s perineum. Aziraphale’s muscles went taut as his back arched. The most beautiful thing.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Crowley asked, watching the way Aziraphale’s body shook as Crowley pushed his fingers between his thighs, teasing him even though Crowley was certain he wanted more.

Aziraphale’s mouth parted as he gasped out a yes. Crowley reached into the bedside drawer to get the lube and spread some on his fingers to get it warm. He pressed open mouthed kisses over Aziraphale’s cock, his pelvis.

Crowley planned on fingering Aziraphale until he was begging but he’d barely worked a second finger in before Aziraphale was thrusting up into the air, cock jerking with every move of Crowley’s hand. It was so terribly obvious he wanted more. And Crowley was going to give it to him. Every moan and gasp stoked that possessive thing in Crowley that was crying out for him to make sure Aziraphale got everything he needed. When he finally tilted Aziraphale’s hips and pressed inside of him, Crowley fell forward onto his hands and bit back a curse.

He needed to keep it together. Aziraphale was so warm and tight around him. He looked so beautiful laid out on the black sheets and Crowley felt about two seconds away from losing control. But Crowley wanted Aziraphale to be fucked as long as he wanted. 

After a few deep breaths, Crowley opened his eyes and met Aziraphale’s gaze. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

Aziraphale tried to push back into him, to quicken the pace, but Crowley grasped his thighs. “No,” Crowley gritted out as he rolled his hips. “I won’t last like that. Let me...”

Crowley rearranged them so he could hook one of Aziraphale’s legs over his shoulder. It forced Crowley to focus on his balance as he moved his hips, chasing the perfect angle. The weight was grounding and let Crowley fuck Aziraphale in a way that had him clutching at the blankets and gasping for breath.

Perfect.

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t have sex like this. Aziraphale had had many partners. Enough to have tried a variety of things. Some liked his dirty talk. Most didn’t mind that he preferred the lights off. But even with all those things it has always been quiet, easy, sedate.

It wasn’t _let me take care of you_. It wasn’t living, heaving breaths that threatened to break you.

Sex with Crowley had been amazing, needy, fast, and hard. It was what Aziraphale craved and yet this. This was...

Aziraphale had lost track of how long Crowley had been inside him. He was too overwhelmed. Arousal wound around his spine, holding him in place, but despite the winding tension, he felt entirely relaxed. Cared for.

Aziraphale opened his eyes.

Crowley slowly thrust into him, a look of intense focus on his face as he gasped with the effort of keeping his maddening pace. A single drop of sweat ran down from his temple and Aziraphale’s stomach swooped nonsensically at the sight. His hair was still shower damp, flopping onto his forehead as he moved. Aziraphale’s heart felt too big and he had to shut his eyes lest he drown in the swell of emotion that threatened to take him.

The tension inside him grew impossibly tight. His entire existence was sparks and flame and then there was a hand around his cock, stroking and stroking until he burned entirely away. His spine curled as he spilled onto his stomach. Distantly, he felt Crowley pull out and then the heat of his spend on his stomach as well.

Somewhere he felt Crowley roll out of bed and when he came back there was a soft damp cloth cleaning his stomach. He opened his eyes. They felt heavy.

Crowley was smiling at him, a hint of nerves around his eyes. Aziraphale tried to focus.

“Dinner or do you want to have that talk?” Crowley asked in a voice that sounded too relaxed to be genuine. It was that false charm Crowley liked to lean on when he was uncertain or nervous.

“You said you had something you wanted to discuss,” Crowley prompted and Aziraphale suddenly envied him his underpants.

He sat up against the headboard and pulled the blanket over his lap. He could do this. It was just defining a relationship. He was an adult.

He looked at Crowley and his resolve wavered. Crowley with his devastating grin. Crowley who wanted to take care of him. 

What if he tried to label this and ruined it entirely?

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Oh, it’s not very important. I wanted to know if you’d be free on Friday. Anathema wanted to reschedule. For the dinner party.”

Crowley cocked his head, confusion clear on his face but he didn’t press. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll be there.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator
> 
> naniiebim drew three amazing pieces of mechanic crowley and aziraphale [here,](https://naniiebimworks.tumblr.com/post/611577643665686528/uuuurgh-summerofspock-youre-killing-me-this-is) [here,](https://naniiebimworks.tumblr.com/post/611482308965433344/crowley-and-aziraphale-based-on-summerofspock-s) and [here](https://naniiebimworks.tumblr.com/post/612056188940697600/indulgence-wanted-to-get-the-hang-of-more%22)  
> blue_sparkle drew a (nsfw) piece of [the black nitrile gloves and the car scene](https://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/611696372890091520/a-smut-based-on-summerofspock-amazing-fic-car)

Despite Crowley’s promise to himself that they wouldn’t spend the night together when Aziraphale had an 8 AM class, he found it impossible to send him away after dinner. Not with him curled up so sweetly on Crowley’s bed. So instead of urging him to go home, Crowley had collected his car keys and gone downstairs to retrieve Aziraphale’s suitcase from his car.

“I should go home,” Aziraphale had mumbled, even as he rolled over and mushed his face into Crowley’s pillow. It was barely 9 PM. 

“What you should do is change into your pyjamas and sleep,” Crowley said, pulling out Aziraphale’s pyjamas from his suitcase and placing them right on his face.

Aziraphale ripped them off and glared at him. “Fine. You horrid man.”

Crowley chuckled and took himself off to get ready for bed.

The whole evening had Crowley thrilling with pride. He’d taken care of Aziraphale, fed him, made sure he slept. It was nice. He wanted to do it all again. He loved the way it made Aziraphale glow and hum like he was incandescently happy. Aziraphale happy made Crowley feel all bubbly and stupid. But in a good way.

It was even worth being woken up at 6:30 AM by the squawk of Aziraphale’s alarm.

It was probably worth a lot more than that.

* * *

Aziraphale felt much better after a good night’s sleep. There was something about Crowley’s flat that soothed him. It was the way his sheets held his scent or how having Crowley beside him throughout the night made him feel safe. 

When Aziraphale went to his first class, he was pleased to find out Anathema had not ruined the students entirely. 

It was only after, when he settled in at his desk to catch up on emails, that he realized he’d been an utter coward. He pulled at his phone and read a message from Crowley. A screenshot of a door for the Bentley he was planning on buying.

His heart constricted and he had to put his phone down. He wanted this. He wanted Crowley to send him pictures of things. Text him whenever he thought of him. He wanted Crowley’s sharp angles, his wicked grins.

Why hadn’t he just said something, anything?

_I like you a great deal and would like for this to be more than just a fling. I’d like to call you my boyfriend, my significant other. Crowley, I think I—_

Aziraphale dropped his face into his hands. He was being ridiculous. Crowley obviously felt _something_. The way he’d taken care of him the night before, soft hands, soft mouth. It was with an intensity that nearly hurt to think on. 

Why was he so terrified?

It was a silly question. Aziraphale knew why. It was the parade of exes who had left because he was boring. Because he wanted a quiet committed life together and they hadn’t. He couldn’t bear to think of that happening with Crowley.

A sharp rap on the door drew Aziraphale’s attention from his melancholy. 

“Come in,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face before directing his attention to the door.

Gabriel walked in, shoulders back, head high. Not that that meant anything. It was just his normal, insufferable posture. Aziraphale frowned at himself. That was uncharitable. He couldn’t let his personal life affect him professionally.

“Good morning, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said politely, standing and gesturing for Gabriel to take a seat. “How may I help you?”

“I wanted to check in about the conference. See how it went,” Gabriel said smoothly, sliding into one of the chairs and waiting. 

Aziraphale pasted a polite smile on his face as he told Gabriel what he wanted to hear. That he enjoyed himself a great deal. That it had been a wonderful opportunity. 

Gabriel nodded along and when Aziraphale finished, finally said, “Why don’t you toss that all into a presentation for the department? You can use Michael’s template.”

Aziraphale bit his lip so he wouldn’t sigh. He hated making powerpoints.

Gabriel stood and then paused. “Oh, right!” He clapped his hands together as if to emphasize his excitement. “I wanted to tell you that your funding was approved. You can start looking for candidates. Newt can help you with postings for applications.”

Aziraphale gaped at him and then swallowed and then gaped again. “Really? That’s...that’s wonderful news. Thank you.”

Gabriel shook his hand once and nodded sharply before departing. Aziraphale collapsed into his chair. The conference may have been trying and his anxiety may have reached new highs but this was undeniably good news.

He pulled out his phone and texted Anathema and then Crowley.

Perhaps Friday could be a bit more of a celebration than they had originally intended.

* * *

Crowley knocked on Aziraphale’s door, once more clad in his best shirt and jeans he’d specifically washed the night before. Anxiety rattled through him and he shifted from foot to foot, hoping movement would alleviate some of the jitteriness.

Crowley wasn’t good at meeting new people. He was cranky and off-putting and he knew it. It didn’t help that Aziraphale had seen the dark, moldering pits of himself and seemed alright with them. Because that meant his friends might know those same rotten secrets. Would they look at him with pity? 

Aziraphale opened the door and gave him that brilliant smile. The one that knocked Crowley right on his arse every time. Would that ever end? Or was he set to be incapacitated by the way Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled with joy every time they saw each other?

Aziraphale leaned over the threshold and kissed him softly, making his heart skip a beat. They’d texted off and on all week but it had five days since they’d last touched and Crowley had noticed. Every atom in his body was drawing him closer to Aziraphale, clamoring for contact. 

He would have deepened the kiss, but was foiled when Aziraphale snatched the container from his hand and stepped back.

“What is this?” Aziraphale said, holding up the tupperware to peer through the plastic bottom.

“I made lemon cakes,” Crowley said, snatching it back and scowling.

Aziraphale scowled back. “I said you didn’t need to make anything.”

“I’m not just going to show up at a party empty-handed,” Crowley retorted, tucking the container under his arm.

Aziraphale let out a long disgruntled breath through his nose. “You are too stubborn for your own good.”

Crowley leaned against the doorjamb and gave him a shit eating grin. “Don’t you know it. Now put your shoes on. We should get going.”

Aziraphale humphed and bustled over to the table to put on his shoes, giving Crowley a lovely view of the spread of his thighs. They pressed beautifully against his khaki trousers. Crowley had seen them now. Touched them. 

A vivid image flashed in his mind. Aziraphale folded onto a barstool, nude thighs soft and spilling over the edges as his gorgeous arse pressed up and back, entirely exposed. Crowley could drop to his knees and fill his hands entirely, lick into him with no effort, make him quake and cry out.

He cleared his throat and looked at his feet. They were going to a dinner party. He needed to curb thoughts like that. At least for a few hours.

* * *

Anathema kept smirking at him. And Aziraphale kept imagining flicking a spoonful of cooked carrots at her face. 

Their little detente meant that Crowley and Newt were left to do the bulk of the conversational heavy lifting. Aziraphale would almost feel bad if Crowley weren’t so _good_ at it. Aziraphale really shouldn’t have been surprised. He had only known Crowley for two months or so but he was certainly aware of how good he was at playing a part. He was projecting that air of relaxation, that cool interest that Aziraphale remembered from their first few dates.

When had Crowley finally allowed Aziraphale to see the other side of him? The one that worried and frowned and shuffled on its feet. Perhaps some time after handjobs in his study. 

Aziraphale glanced at his plate and tried not to think too hard about handjobs.

“Really, Anathema, this is very good,” Crowley said easily between bites of potatoes.

Anathema grinned wolfishly—oh, dear—and said, “That’s high praise, I think. Aziraphale said you’re quite the chef.”

Crowley didn’t even miss a beat, just waved his fork and said, “Nah. I like to cook but I’m nothing special.”

“That’s not how Aziraphale says it,” Anathema murmured and Aziraphale had to remind himself he was a forty-year-old man who did not kick his friends’ shins beneath tables.

“So you’re a mechanic,” Newt said, slipping into the conversation with as much subtlety as a brick. 

“Yup,” Crowley replied, popping a cooked carrot into his mouth and chewing performatively. Aziraphale took a drink from his wine.

“How long have you been at that then?” Newt asked.

“About ten years,” Crowley said and Aziraphale began to see his mouth grow tight. He’d worn his sunglasses to dinner, fretting something fierce before they arrived. Fretting for Crowley had looked like removing his sunglasses in the car, putting them back on, taking them off again, and then finally growling, slamming them on his face and rocketing out of the car. 

Aziraphale hadn’t exactly known how to comfort him on that front. _No one will notice your scar_ felt a bit insensitive. 

“And before you were a mechanic what did you do?” Newt asked. Which was a reasonable question if Aziraphale hadn’t known Crowley’s answer. 

“Bit of everything really,” Crowley said with a shrug, breezy and light and Aziraphale wondered again at his ability to do that, to just ignore something that had brought him so much pain. Pretend it had never happened.

The conversation moved on easily and Aziraphale felt as if some test had been passed. They ate their dinner. They drank their wine. They laughed. And then Anathema said, “I'm so glad we were able to make this work. I’ve never had the chance to meet any of Aziraphale’s boyfriends before.”

Crowley knocked over his water and swore.

“Shit,” he hissed, trying to sop it up with the cloth napkin. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Anathema rushed out of the room and returned with a towel. She waved away Crowley’s apologies as she cleaned up the mess. 

Moving on from the slight mishap easily, Anathema clapped her hands and said, “I think it’s time for dessert!”

Aziraphale tried to meet Crowley’s eyes, maybe give him a supportive smile. Anything. 

Crowley wouldn’t stop staring at his lap.

With a sinking stomach, Aziraphale realized this was why dinner parties were a terrible idea.

* * *

The drive back to Aziraphale was tense and silent. Crowley had no idea how to fix it.

Hearing Aziraphale’s friend refer to him as Aziraphale’s boyfriend had done something to his lizard brain. Something along the lines of making it screech so loud that it drowned out everything else. It had forced an intense swell of desire to the front of Crowley’s mind. He had suddenly wanted to drag Aziraphale into his lap and tuck his face into the delicious roll of skin under his chin, curl around him entirely and his _mine_.

Stupid reptile brain.

Crowley flexed his hands on the wheel and focused on the road. Stupid indeed. 

When he pulled up to the curb in front of Aziraphale’s house, he let the engine idle. It didn’t feel like the sort of night where he was about to get invited inside. When he glanced over at Aziraphale, he was reminded of that first time he’d brought him home. That fascinating face, the tip of that nose, soft kissable mouth. 

He swallowed and looked away. 

Crowley wasn’t a coward. Maybe there was a time in his life where he had been. Or perhaps he’d been so caught up in his bad decisions that cowardice had been a side effect. Don’t look too close at the rotten thing and it doesn’t exist. You don’t have to choose to be better. There is nothing better.

But getting clean, that had been brave. Starting over? Just as hard. Just as much of an everyday uphill battle to stay upright, to keep moving, to survive. 

He’d fought then. He could fight now. 

That wasn’t quite right though. Crowley had been fighting for a long time, but maybe, this was different. This wasn’t closed fists and blood-streaked teeth. It was holding out your hand, palm up, heart beating in the center of it and saying: _here I am_.

“I’m glad you have a shitty car,” Crowley said into the yawning silence.

The engine rumbled in response.

Idiot.

Bad start.

“What?” Aziraphale said. Was Crowley going to look at him for this?

Nope. No way. 

“I mean—shit—I’m not glad you have a shitty car. I’m—you came into the garage because of your car. And I’m glad about that. Meeting you is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. About ten years I think.”

Crowley grasped the wheel tightly and took a deep breath. Worth the risk.

“I know we’re different. Mechanic. Professor. That’s a big gap, that is. I’m never going to be comfortable at your fancy restaurants but I’ll go. I’ll go because you’re there. I’m not going to be able to talk big ideas about the Iliad but I’d listen to you talk about it for days. I don’t know what you want from this relationship but you should know that I’m in. One hundred percent.”

He stared at his hands. And stared some more. Crowley was glad he’d finally said it. But he also sort of felt like he might vomit on the floor of his car.

Finally, Aziraphale said, “Perhaps you should turn off the car. I think we should talk about this inside.”

Crowley shut off the engine. His hands were shaking. The walk between the curb and Aziraphale’s house, surreal.

He was standing in the entryway watching Aziraphale take off his shoes and coat. Just standing, hands in his pockets and trying to figure out what the fuck was happening. 

And then Aziraphale was sitting at the kitchen table and gesturing for him to sit too.

Crowley sat.

Aziraphale let out a long shuddering breath and looked at him for the first time since they exited the car. He sniffed, like maybe he’d been crying, but Crowley knew he hadn’t. Concern rose inside him regardless.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale began. “This is quite...this is quite overwhelming.”

Crowley reached out and tentatively took his hand. It was all he could think to do.

“I’ve been meaning to say something but every time I lost my nerve,” Aziraphale said, glancing down at their entwined hands. His dusky blond lashes shaded his cheeks, made him look vulnerable. Aziraphale laughed wryly. “I suppose I should be glad you have enough nerve for the both of us.”

The eerie numbness that had taken over Crowley’s body began to fizzle at the edges of his fingertips, crawling up his arms and neck as realization—and hope—began to take root. 

“You said we’re different. And perhaps we are. But I like that. I—I like you.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked and Crowley wanted to kiss him. He supposed that wasn’t much of a change since he’d wanted to kiss Aziraphale since he’d opened the door and teased him about his lemon cakes. Fuck, he wanted to kiss Aziraphale all the time.

“I want this to be a proper relationship. I’d like Anathema to call you my boyfriend and have it be true. I want to be yours. If you’ll have me.”

_Yours_ popped around in Crowley’s head like firecrackers, the sort you watch spin out, spitting sparks.

“Of course I’ll fucking have you,” Crowley snapped because he apparently didn’t have a romantic bone in his body.

Aziraphale grinned, brilliant and shining. His eyes crinkled deeply and his chin dipped and it was everything Crowley loved about that gorgeous face. He tugged on Aziraphale’s hand until he moved close enough for Crowley to kiss him.

It was such a relief that Crowley sighed into it. There was too much affection in him. He couldn’t get it out. 

“Bedroom?” Aziraphale mumbled against his mouth.

“Fuck yes.”

* * *

Aziraphale would never be over the sight of Crowley in his bed. 

They’d fumbled into the bedroom, trading progressively heated kisses, and Crowley had determinedly flicked on the light. Aziraphale had moved to turn it off again but Crowley had looked so utterly hopeful that he quelled the urge. Crowley liked the way he looked. He needed to remember that.

He tugged off Crowley’s clothes easily, pushing him back on the bed and watching as he peeled off his briefs. He was already hard. It made Aziraphale ache.

Aziraphale shrugged out of his golden waistcoat, hands immediately going to his bowtie as he approached the bed. He climbed onto the coverlet and Crowley’s hands fisted around his braces.

"Fuck, you look good," Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale shook his head in disbelief. He placed one hand on the dip between Crowley's hip and his thigh, felt the sharp slope of it.

"I’m afraid I’ve never seen anything quite so lovely as you," Aziraphale said, moving so he could replace his hand with his mouth. Crowley’s prick bumped against his cheek and he gave it a passing lick. Just a tease.

"Just a scrawny mechanic. Not very exciting, that," Crowley said dismissively as he tried to get his hands inside Aziraphale’s clothes and failed.

Aziraphale hummed and nuzzled his hip. "I don't know about that. What about this here? A work of art," Aziraphale said as he traced the shadows of Crowley's hips.

"I can see the way your muscles flex when you move." He splayed his fingers over Crowley's abdomen. "It’s fascinating."

Crowley was staring at him, eyebrows up, mouth slightly open.

"Your legs," Aziraphale said, grasping his thighs. "Beautiful and strong. And so long. You can wrap them all the way around me. Do you know what that feels like?"

Crowley swallowed visibly and shook his head.

"And your shoulders. I could worship them. The way your back moves, your arms. Before we even kissed that first time, I fantasized about touching them."

"Jesus, Aziraphale," Crowley said, tugging on his braces once more. "Either kiss me or get naked. You can't just say things."

"I'll say what I please," Aziraphale said, loving the way Crowley squirmed and tugged and arched his back. Needy. All for him.

“But,” Aziraphale added, rising to his knees. “Because you asked nicely, I will also take off my clothes.”

“Finally,” Crowley groaned, hands at Aziraphale’s zip and pushing at his trousers in a way that was more harm than help.

Aziraphale shook his head fondly and climbed off of him, removing his clothes in a purposefully sedate manner, enjoying when Crowley whined disconsolately in the background.

* * *

Watching Aziraphale get undressed was like watching a miracle unfold. Each inch of precious skin had Crowley sucking in a breath.

First his braces, then his trousers, then his arms as he peeled off his shirtsleeves. He was wearing a ribbed white vest, the collar low enough that Crowley could see the gray blond curls of his chest hair. It revealed the pale softness of his arms, the small flecks of stretch marks along them, silvery white. 

When Aziraphale climbed back into bed without a stitch on, Crowley rose up onto his hands and kissed Aziraphale’s bicep.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked, sounding oddly amused. 

“Kissing your arm,” Crowley retorted. Aziraphale scoffed and pushed him back against the pillows, a small display of mindless strength that had Crowley aching for more.

With the overhead light on Crowley was able to see everything, the shadow of his sternum, the small swells of his chest. Crowley’s mouth watered with the urge to kiss, to bite.

“Get in my lap,” Crowley said, scooting back against Aziraphale’s headboard and gesturing for him to come closer.

Aziraphale straddled him and their cocks brushed. It was so good but it wasn’t what Crowley was after.

He filled his hands with Aziraphale’s chest. “Look at you,” he breathed, rolling Aziraphale’s nipples between his fingers. He was so soft and warm. 

Aziraphale gasped under Crowley’s touch. It was intoxicating to watch. A beautiful flush was spreading on his chest as he squirmed in Crowley’s lap. Crowley pushed his face into his sternum and breathed deep. He smelled of his sandalwood soap and of warmth and that perfect Aziraphale smell.

His gray and blonde chest hair tickled Crowley’s cheeks as he kissed over his chest so that he could replace his left hand with his mouth. Aziraphale sank his hands into his hair and cried out as Crowley laved and sucked, losing himself in the sink of Aziraphale’s chest. 

Finally, Aziraphale tugged him back by the hair and captured his mouth in a messy kiss. Crowley grasped his arse, kneading the ample flesh. “Can I fuck you like this?” Crowley asked when Aziraphale began to kiss his neck. “I want to hold you.”

Aziraphale’s arms tightened around him briefly before he pulled back. 

“Ye-yes, let me get the lube,” Aziraphale said, crawling off him. The movement did all sorts of fascinating things to his torso, changing the shape of it. 

Crowley took the lube from Aziraphale’s hand and helped Aziraphale back into his lap. He slicked his fingers and reached beneath him to begin to open him up. He loved the way Aziraphale’s body welcomed him, first one finger and then another. Aziraphale was bracing himself on Crowley’s shoulders as he leaned his weight forward, letting Crowley fuck into him with his hand.

Crowley dropped biting kisses on Aziraphale’s shoulders, listening carefully to the hitches in his breath, his gasps. He wanted to chase those noises so that by the time Aziraphale was on his cock, he was entirely wrecked.

It was the insistent huff of Aziraphale’s breath on his neck, the obscene slick noises of Aziraphale being fucked by Crowley’s hand. Crowley was lost to it. 

_Yours_.

“I’m ready,” Aziraphale said into his neck and Crowley withdrew, reaching for Aziraphale’s cock to stroke him back to full hardness.

Aziraphale knocked his hand away. He grasped Crowley and sank down on him slowly. It stole the breath from Crowley’s chest. He could see every inch of his cock as it filled Aziraphale’s body. Once he was fully seated, Aziraphale groaned and leaned forward, hands coming to rest on Crowley’s chest.

“You alright, angel?” Crowley gasped out, trying to will himself not to move. More than anything his body was crying out for him to push up again Aziraphale. Fuck into him. But he wanted to be good for him. Take care of him.

Aziraphale didn’t answer; he just began to move. Crowley was consumed entirely by the flex of his thighs, the gasps that fell from his mouth, the shake of his soft body.

Feeling as if Aziraphale was too far away, Crowley braced his feet on the bed and sat up, bringing his arms around Aziraphale’s back and pulling him down into a kiss. It was messy, full of gasps as Crowley tried to match Aziraphale’s rhythm, growing faster and faster as he spiraled closer to the edge.

Aziraphale reached between them and fisted his own cock. He tore his mouth away from Crowley’s and shuddered as he spilled onto Crowley’s belly. But he didn’t stop moving, just kept rocking his hips until Crowley came too, a groan punched out of his lungs.

When Aziraphale finally climbed off him, Crowley was near drunk on his orgasm, still breathing hard and trying to pull himself together.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said into the silence.

Crowley laughed. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale rolled out of bed to clean himself up and when he returned he was in his boxers and a white undershirt. He fished in one of his drawers and retrieved a matching shirt before handing it to Crowley.

“I thought I might like a little control over which of my clothes you steal,” Aziraphale said with a smirk.

Crowley stared at the shirt in his hand.

With terrible clarity, Crowley realized he was in love with Aziraphale.

He’d pointedly tried to avoid thinking about it, but the truth was loud and obvious and terrifying.

He took himself off to the bathroom to get ready for bed and tried not to think about it. He brushed his teeth and tried not to think about it. He climbed back in bed and tried not to think about it.

Aziraphale rolled onto his side and smiled at him.

He might as well have kicked him in the chest.

“Have I told you where my name comes from?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shook his head. His heart wouldn’t calm down. His whole body was a poorly tuned harp, thrumming, screaming.

“Aziraphale was an angel.”

Of course. Of fucking course. “So I suppose people teased you then. Called you angel in primary?”

Aziraphale snuggled closer, eyes drifting shut. He looked so good, cheek pressed sweetly against the flower-patterned sheets. Baby’s breath kissing his skin.

“On the contrary, you’re the first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few notes:  
> 1) yes the chapter count went up. this is the last time (i'm like 95% sure)  
> 2) a few people have asked for permission to draw/sketch/edit things for this and my general approach to my writing is feel free to use it as inspiration for anything, just make sure to credit me and i'd love to see it if you do!  
> 3) GOOD LORD y'all's support has been amazing and astounding and everyone has been so kind. I can't thank you enough. <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator
> 
> cw: oblique reference to past physical abuse, nongraphic panic attack, reference to past homophobia
> 
> as a final note, some problems arise in this chapter that might be upsetting to some folks. if you are feeling sensitive and don't want to venture into that, I'd suggest waiting until the next chapter is released (sometime later this week or early next) so you can read the resolution alongside this chapter

Crowley woke up to a soft, “Good morning.”

He opened his eyes and Aziraphale was looking at him from across the pillows, a small smile on his face. He had a pillow crease on his cheek and he was flushed from sleep, wild hair grown even wilder from where it had been pressed against the pillows.

Crowley’s heart clutched.

_I love him._

“Good morning,” he said, just as soft and Aziraphale reached out and pushed the hair from Crowley’s face.

“I like waking up with you,” Aziraphale said like it didn’t force Crowley’s heart right out of his chest. He was already in love with him. Did he really have to say shite like that?

Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s hip, felt his fingers sink into the flesh and then tugged him closer. 

"Lots of things we can do on a Saturday morning, don't you think?" Crowley said, tucking his face into Aziraphale’s neck and nuzzling his sleep warm skin.

Azirapahle giggled— _adorable_ —and wrapped his arms around Crowley, drawing him closer. He pressed against him, cock already hard against Crowley's hip. Perfect.

Crowley pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, shivering when Aziraphale slipped his hands under his sleep shirt. Aziraphale’s shirt. Fuck.

Crowley slithered down the bed, pushing up Aziraphale’s shirt so he could kiss his belly. It was the best thing, being pillowed against Aziraphale’s body first thing in the morning. 

Aziraphale’s hands passed through his hair, tugged on his shoulders, cupped his jaw as Crowley continued his path down Aziraphale's body. He hooked his fingers on the waistband of Aziraphale’s boxers and pulled them down around his knees, drawing back so Aziraphale could kick them off.

The morning light poured through the sheer curtains, spilling over the bed and making Aziraphale look even more heavenly than usual.

Aziraphale was an angel.

Overwhelmed, Crowley let his forehead come to rest on Aziraphale's hip. Did people just go around feeling like this? If he said how he felt, would it make him feel less ready to crack open? Not so soon. Not if he wanted this to work out.

"Darling," Aziraphale said and brushed Crowley's hair back again. "Are you alright?"

"I'm perfect, angel,'' Crowley said, forcing himself to change gears, putting on a wicked grin so Aziraphale wouldn’t see his stupid, soppy thoughts. Aziraphale didn't look exactly convinced but that didn't matter because before he could say anything else Crowley took his cock in his mouth.

He heard Aziraphale’s hand hit the bed as his back arched, crying out Crowley’s name, those two syllables striking like matches behind his eyes. He took Aziraphale as deep as he could, wanting to feel filled up, feel possessed. He gagged and pulled off.

Aziraphale’s cock fell against his belly. Crowley cast his eyes up Aziraphale’s body, over the terrain of it, and said, "Would you fuck me?"

Aziraphale's eyes popped open, the clearest blue. "Would—would you want that?"

"I'm asking," Crowley said, already starting to frown. He remembered Aziraphale saying he preferred to bottom and maybe that meant—

"Yes," Aziraphale said, sitting up and pulling Crowley close. "I would love to."

* * *

It was strange, being between Crowley’s legs, steadily fucking into him with his fingers. He was entranced by the way Crowley's body welcomed him, the tightness of it.

He was also entirely enamored with the sight of Crowley on his fussy flower-patterned sheets, moaning and shaking under Aziraphale’s attentions.

"Fuck," Crowley gasped, feet slamming into the bed as Aziraphale pressed in a second finger. "You feel so fucking good."

Aziraphale kissed Crowley's thigh and continued to stretch him open. Crowley’s hips stuttered and he whined as he tried to fuck back against Aziraphale’s hand. His cock was leaking something fierce and Aziraphale couldn’t resist tasting him.

He leaned down and sucked on the tip as he crooked his fingers. 

Crowley gasped and shook and cried out beneath him. It was glorious and finally, at Crowley's urging, Aziraphale slicked himself and began to sink inside.

Crowley tossed his head back and groaned, tendons of his neck stark as he adjusted to Aziraphale’s girth. 

Aziraphale ran a soothing hand over his stomach. "Alright?"

Crowley opened his eyes, honey gold, and nodded. "Could we—on my hands and knees?"

Aziraphale kissed Crowley's knee and pulled out with a small wince. "Of course, darling."

Crowley rolled over and Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. His back. The long line of it. the shadows of his vertebrae and the rise of his scapulae. He had a handful of dark freckles dotted over his back, a wonderful example of beauty in asymmetry. Aziraphale brushed his thumb over the one by Crowley's hip.

Crowley tilted his head and looked back at him. "Could you—could you be a little rough?"

Aziraphale froze, caught in his obvious perusal of Crowley's body. "Rough?"

It turned out that when Crowley blushed his whole torso turned faintly pink.

"Yeah, not like...not anything like that. Just...ilikewhenyouholdmedown,” Crowley mumbled, facing the pillow again.

"Oh," Aziraphale said, resisting the urge to ask more questions. "I can certainly do that then."

Crowley made a sharp noise of acknowledgement and braced himself on his arms. 

Aziraphale stroked himself back to hardness and pressed.back into Crowley. At this angle he could get deeper and Crowley obviously felt the stretch, back muscles flexing as he pushed back.

True to his word, Aziraphale laid the flat of his hand between Crowley's shoulder blades and pushed until he was effectively holding him against the bed.

Lust curled through Aziraphale like rising steam when Crowley let out a deep moan. He pushed harder. "Do you like that, darling?"

"Yes," Crowley gasped, the word shaking through his whole body and reverberating around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale grasped Crowley's hip with his free hand, holding him in place. "Do you like me holding you down while I fuck you?"

"Yes," Crowley said, nearly a sob as Aziraphale finally pulled back.

He pushed back in slowly and Crowley shuddered and moaned.

"More, fuck, more."

Holding him in place, Aziraphale rocked into him, slow at first and then faster as Crowley's cries increased in pitch. He was beautiful and all Aziraphale wanted was more mornings just like this.

* * *

Crowley was being held down, surrounded, loved. He could feel Aziraphale with every movement of his hips, hear his huffing gasps of pleasure. It was everything he'd wanted. He floated in it.

Then Aziraphale’s hand slid to the base of his neck, played with the sensitive hairs at his nape and Crowley's skin crawled, inverted, lungs broken kites wheeling in the sky.

He gasped and fell against the bed. Hands on his shoulders, holding him down. _Stop looking at me like that._

The temperature around Crowley shifted, a cold rush of air, a pressure change. Soft arms were around his torso, pulling him up and gathering him close.

A shushing sound.

"It's alright, love."

Hand running through his hair.

"It's alright."

Aziraphale was holding him close, skin to skin, making soft soothing noises as he rubbed a hand over Crowley's back.

Crowley blinked and pulled away. There were tears on his cheeks, hot and embarrassing. "Sorry, I - I…"

What was he supposed to say?

Aziraphale smiled at him sadly, supportively. 

He scrubbed at his eyes and willed away the tightness in his throat. "S'not you. You’re— you’re perfect. Just...old stuff."

Aziraphale’s hand came to rest on his knee and Crowley felt suddenly far too exposed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Crowley shook his head. Talking would make it worse. He didn’t want the torn up feeling to linger. It had started out as a good morning, a happy one, and he wouldn’t let stupid memories ruin it.

What he needed was coffee, lots of it. 

"Well then, perhaps we could shower and go into town for breakfast. I have a very handsome boyfriend to show off."

Crowley barked a laugh. Aziraphale. Sodding Aziraphale.

"Off you pop. Shower and then nibbles."

Crowley let Aziraphale shoo him into the shower, even granting him a sweet if slightly stale kiss before he departed to the guest bathroom.

Crowley let the hot water knock away the old sensations, tamp down the fight or flight response that was still squeezing his heart in steadily weakening fingers. He didn’t want to let his stupid old shit ruin this good thing. He liked how strong Aziraphale was. He liked it until it reminded him of Luc because Luc had been strong too. Crowley had liked that at first. It felt like care in the early days. Until it was suffocating. Until Crowley felt helpless. Until Luc held him down when Crowley didn’t want him to.

He used Aziraphale’s sandalwood soap and let the scent soothe his nerves. He'd need to text Bee and let them know he'd be in late. He was pretty sure they'd understand even if they'd been uniquely cagey lately. And somehow even more prickly. 

As always, hot water and a hard scrub had Crowley feeling less shaken. The tendons behind his eyes ached and if he thought too hard his palms itched

But he was fine. 

He brushed his teeth and reminded himself that this was different. Aziraphale hadn't turned his back on Crowley when he found out about his past. He hadn't used it against him. 

And just because Crowley had lost it a bit back there didn’t mean Aziraphale was going to toss him aside. It was just one mistake and Aziraphale liked him. They were together now. Crowley looked at the toothbrush in his hand. Aziraphale hadn’t even been able to throw that away. He wasn’t about to throw Crowley away.

_I've never been good at giving up on things I care about._

Crowley gripped the edge of the counter and tried not to giggle like a stupid lovestruck idiot.

He looked at the ceiling and realized it was pointless. Because that was exactly what he was.

* * *

At Aziraphale’s behest, Crowley gladly took them downtown. The frayed edges of his nerves were mending as Aziraphale happily chattered in the front seat about the cafe they were going to. It was a soothing stream of sound that Crowley could listen to without having to reply. 

The cafe itself was nothing fancy and Crowley was glad for it. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to be _looked_ at in his clothes from the day before, an all black smudge in dark glasses. People peered at him suspiciously in posh places. Though perhaps they’d do that less if he was on Aziraphale’s arm.

“So what’s good here?” Crowley asked, settling into one of the bistro chairs and perusing the menu with no real intent to read it. He knew Aziraphale would have an opinion on the food and that his opinion would likely be correct.

“Well, what are you in the mood for?” Aziraphale asked. He was so happy this morning, crinkling eyes and barely contained smiles. 

“Eh, why don’t you order for me? I trust you.”

Aziraphale looked inordinately pleased by that and when the waitress took their order, he proudly announced, “And my boyfriend would like the beans and toast. With sausage.”

Aziraphale shot Crowley a mischievous look. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, turning Crowley into a pathetic puddle in the middle of the cafe.

He'd never felt like someone was proud to have him on their arm. The string of boyfriends that Crowley kept around just to have some place to stay had certainly not been proud. They'd known what he was. A leech. 

Luc had been different at first. That's why Crowley had fallen so hard. He'd felt appreciated for the first time in a long time and that was easy to get addicted to.

But Aziraphale really was different. He was safe. He was caring and kind. Even if he decided to end things, he’d do it in a nice way. Let Crowley down easy. 

For now, Aziraphale’s willingness to hold his hand in public, smile at him with twinkling eyes and act so bloody excited meant the whole damned world.

"You are an absolute menace," Crowley said when their drinks arrived.

"What?" Aziraphale said innocently. "Can’t I show off my handsome boyfriend?"

Crowley's heart fluttered stupidly. He fucking loved him. 

Too soon. Too soon.

Crowley grunted but Aziraphale nudged his ankle with his foot and Crowley nudged back which earned him a satisfied smile.

* * *

Aziraphale wanted to have a conversation about what had happened in bed that morning, but he didn’t want to upset Crowley when he was clearly already shaken. Crowley had explained how his past partner had treated him and so Aziraphale didn’t press. He didn’t need to know the details. Perhaps they could talk about it one day, but for now, Aziraphale was simply happy that Crowley seemed alright. 

Without the threat of unspoken feelings hanging over him, Aziraphale basked in the easiness of being with Crowley. He loved the way Crowley poked fun at him, the way Crowley’s face grew soft when Aziraphale made a particularly pleased noise around a bite of his breakfast. 

He wished the morning didn’t have to end, that they could go back to Crowley’s and continue the day the way they had started it, happily tangled in bed. But Crowley had to go to work.

Until then, Aziraphale was going to enjoy how Crowley laughed with him over their coffees as they postulated on who Bee could possibly be dating.

“They’ve really never been in a relationship?” Aziraphale asked, a bit incredulous.

“Well, I can’t speak for before I knew them. Or really after,” Crowley said, rubbing his hand over his chin thoughtfully. “They could have been dating someone this whole time and I wouldn’t be surprised they didn’t tell me. Hastur and Ligur might be a bit weird but at least they’ve always been out and out about their stuff. A bit refreshing compared to Bee actually.”

“It really is nice that they’re getting married. Have you gotten any more details on it? Besides it being a Christmas affair?” Aziraphale asked, happy to be drinking his coffee on a Saturday morning and gossiping with his _boyfriend._

“Actually, I was going to talk to you about that,” Crowley said, setting down his own mug. He began to tap out a strange rhythm on the handle. “They asked me to be one of their best men. Best person. Persons. People? I don’t know. They asked Bee too.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That’s very sweet. I assume you’re going to do it.”

“What?” Crowley asked, wrinkling his nose. “Of course. I was—I wanted to know if you wanted to go. With me.”

Aziraphale took a too-large sip of coffee and burned his tongue. “To the wedding?”

“To the wedding,” Crowley confirmed. His mouth was steadily tilting down.

“Oh, ye-yes,” Aziraphale stammered. He pictured Crowley in a suit, hair tousled artfully, and his stomach did a backflip. And then a front flip. He looked at his mug.

“Just send me the details. Of course I’ll go with you,” he said once he found his words again. Why did this feel utterly monumental? 

A wedding. Christmas. Aziraphale didn’t have any family left to speak of. Crowley certainly didn’t. This could be...this could be something.The sort of relationship where they spent birthdays together, went on trips, had a quiet happy Christmas. It was every one of his silly fantasies from his loneliest nights. His hopeless slideshow of if-onlys. And Crowley was offering it. Holding it out to Aziraphale.

He forced himself to look at Crowley. Finally. And the smile he saw there filled his heart and then some. 

“Good,” Crowley said. Aziraphale almost laughed as he watched Crowley try to fight the smile into submission. Silly man. “Great. Grand. Yeah.”

They must have spoken about more things. They still had their food to eat. But Aziraphale was caught up in the way the light hit Crowley’s short hair, illuminating a whole new rainbow of red. He was so terribly handsome. And he was Aziraphale’s. It was nigh on impossible to believe and yet...

They were returning their dishes when the worst happened.

“Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale’s blood did something awful. It turned and slowed to syrup in his veins. He took a deep breath and pasted on a smile as he turned to face Gabriel.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Gabriel said, nostrils flaring as his movie star smile slid over his face.

“Yes, er, I’ve never run into you here before,” Aziraphale said tightly.

“Variety is the spice of life!” Gabriel said brightly. White teeth like bleached tombstones as he turned his attention to Crowley. “Who’s your friend?”

 _You’re not a good fit for the position_ , he heard in Sandalphon’s sneering tones. He was packing up his office. He was sobbing in his apartment with no one to turn to because his boyfriend had left him. _Can’t we make it work?_ Aziraphale was begging. _Tadfield isn’t that far away._

Aziraphale’s thick, awful, sickly blood screamed in his ears as he looked at Crowley. “Oh? Him?” he said before he could stop himself, words rushing together into something manic. “I don’t know him. He was my mechanic. We just ran into each other. We’re not friends.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t comment on Aziraphale’s strange behavior. “Oh. Hellfire Auto? I brought my car around based on Aziraphale’s recommendation. You work with Bee then? I’m Gabriel, the head of the classic department at Tadfield. Working with Aziraphale here.”

Gabriel’s wide hand collided with Aziraphale’s back in a gesture of friendly goodwill. 

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley and it was like a horrorshow. A smile was spread on Crowley’s face, so false in its ease. He was just looking at Aziraphale, glasses dead, empty mirrors. 

“Yeah,” Crowley said, head slowly turning to look at Gabriel but that smile was still on Aziraphale. “Yeah, I do. They’re a bit of a character, aren’t they? Good ol’ Bee.”

Before Gabriel could say anything, Crowley was reaching out his hand and shaking Aziraphale’s. He hardly felt the touch. He was numb.

“Good to see you again, Dr. Fell,” Crowley said and with that smile the title felt like a curse. “I’ll leave you to your _friend_.”

Aziraphale watched him leave the cafe.

He turned back to Gabriel and said, “If you’ll excuse me.”

He hurried out of the shop but when he stepped outside, Crowley was long gone.

* * *

Crowley tore into the parking lot of the garage and ripped himself out of his car. Work. He had to go to work.

What had he fucking thought? That he would be good enough for someone like Aziraphale. Smart, handsome, well-off Aziraphale.

He had known. It’s what he told himself those first days. Rotten. He was rotten, molding from the inside out. It was who he was, dirty. Only worth a fuck in the dark. Happy brunches and wedding dates were for other people. Not people like Crowley. Crowley had always known it. He’d just tried to convince himself otherwise.

Crowley should have gone home to change but he'd been so enraged he hadn't thought. He ripped his mechanic overalls out of the supply closet and tugged them on over his clothes. His nice clothes. The ones he'd worn to impress Aziraphale’s friends. It didn’t matter if they got stained. It wasn’t like he was going to need them any time soon.

_He's my mechanic. I don't know him. We’re not friends._

"What's going on here?" Bee said, appearing behind him in the dim light. Their voice full of tightly leashed concern.

Crowley bared his teeth. "Nothing. Leave it."

"No."

"Yes," Crowley snarled, ready to brush past Bee and get to work.

Bee put out a hand to stop him. He knocked it away.

"Get out of my way, Bee."

"No."

"I’m fine," he said through gritted teeth. Grief was gnawing its way through his chest and he needed to do something, anything to feed it before it devoured him entirely.

"No," Bee said again and the single syllable filled Crowley with so much rage, he was shoving them out of the way before he even considered his action.

"For once in your goddamn life, leave it," he growled, pushing past them.

They grabbed his arm. "I leave it and you fuck up. So I'm not going to leave it."

"Fuck up?" Crowley sneered whirling back to face Bee. "Right. _If I don’t babysit Crowley, he’ll go off the deep end._ As if I’m going to relapse. Is that what you fucking think of me?"

“That’s not what I think and you know it,” Bee said evenly and when Crowley moved to leave, they stepped in front of him once more. “Come on. I’ve got a list of things we can work on today. Get whatever this is out of your system.”

It wasn’t what Crowley wanted to hear. He didn’t fucking know what he wanted to hear.

"Fuck you and fuck this. I don't need you to fucking _hold my hand_ ," Crowley screamed, finally shoving Bee out of the way so he could get to his car. Get away.

He wasn’t on the edge of a relapse. He was on the edge of a fucking breakdown. And when it happened, he wanted to be somewhere dark and quiet and cold where no one could see exactly how pathetic he was.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator - thank you for helping me navigate this!
> 
> cw: past homophobia, internalized homophobia, anxiety

Crowley went to sleep.

He managed himself up his steps, through his front door, and into his bedroom, where he curled under his coverlet and slept.

It was a terrible sort of sleep, fitful and overheated. He woke up at some point to piss and drink water. His head was fuzzy.

He went back to bed.

When he finally got up, there was a gloomy quality to the light outside. Dawn or dusk. He didn't know. 

He stood in his living room staring at his blank TV. He was still in his clothes from Friday. They smelled faintly like Aziraphale's house.

Numb numb, black and gray, he drifted to the sideboard to pick his phone. He tried to turn on the screen. He couldn't. It was dead.

Staring at the empty black screen, he laughed. Harsh, choked. 

His lungs began to burn. He clutched the sideboard and sank to his knees, falling on his arse as tears fell down his cheeks.

It hurt. It fucking _hurt_.

He put a hand to his chest and tried to ease the heaving ache as he sucked in tearful breaths. 

This wasn't Luc all over again. He wasn't under anyone's thumb. He had things he could...he had things.

He grasped the phone in his hand and forced himself to his feet, making sure they carried him to the bedroom where he could plug it in. He stripped off his clothes and his sheets, stuffing them in the wash all together because his heart was broken and who gave a fuck about laundry instructions.

He listened to the machine whir in the bathroom as he tugged on his loosest clothes and collapsed on the edge of his bare mattress.

He turned on his phone, watched the lights flash.

Four texts from Aziraphale. Six missed calls.

Three texts from Bee.

He opened up the ones from Bee.

_What happened_

_Call me you dumb fuck_

_Im giving you 24 hours to call me and then im coming over_

Based on the timestamp of that last one Crowley had some time left. Regardless, he typed out a response.

_Im fine. Sorry for storming out. Need some time to get my head on. Can i take a couple days_

Bee was probably just starting their day—6 AM—and their response pinged through immediately.

_Take whatever time you need. Daily check in texts plz_

Crowley sighed. Same old Bee. 

He opened the rest of his texts and saw the preview for the last message from Aziraphale.

_I conducted myself poorly please call…_

Crowley turned off his phone screen and ignored the sharp stab of pain in his chest.

He stood and took himself off to the kitchen to make breakfast.

He wasn't very hungry. His stomach was still in knots. But he needed something to do with his hands.

* * *

Aziraphale called Anathema when he realized Crowley was nowhere to be found. Crowley wasn’t picking up his phone. Aziraphale was stranded. Perhaps he could have called a cab or...one of those lift services, but that would mean talking to a stranger. Aziraphale didn’t think he could manage that.

What he needed was to talk to Crowley, to apologize, to explain himself. 

What he needed was a friend.

Hearing Anathema’s voice on the receiver, happy and kind, had Aziraphale's voice choke with tears. He had done something unthinkable. Terrible.

_Luc used to take me places after we fought and pretend he didn't know me. I'd have to beg for forgiveness._

Aziraphale’s thoughts spiraled. How could he have been so mindlessly cruel? 

If only he’d been honest with Crowley about his past, they could have avoided this. Crowley could have known what to expect. Instead, he’d kicked it under the rug like all the other things he was ashamed of. A fool. A horrid fool.

"Jesus, Aziraphale. Take a breath," Anathema said after Aziraphale stuttered out his location through his blubbering. "I'll be there in five."

The minute Aziraphale shut the door to Anathema’s car she was questioning him.

"What happened? You look terrible," Anathema said, eyebrows drawn together as she put the car in park. 

Aziraphale dropped his face into his hands, let out a shuddering breath and explained.

"Holy shit," Anathema breathed when Aziraphale finally fell silent.

"I know."

"That was awful."

"I know," Aziraphale said, pitiful. He was pitiful. The worst sort of coward.

They sat in silence for a moment. It grew thick as Aziraphale struggled to control his breathing. _He’s my mechanic. We’re not friends._

"I don't know if you can come back from that," Anathema said quietly.

"I know."

* * *

Crowley ignored Aziraphale’s phone calls until they stopped coming in. He didn’t want to hear what Aziraphale had to say. He wasn’t about to let himself get caught up in another relationship where they cycled between hurt and apology and all the way back to hurt. He was better than that now.

On Wednesday, Crowley went back to work. Bee looked at him for a long moment and said, "You good?"

"I’m managing."

Bee looked like they might say more at that but just jerked their head and went back to work.

Crowley was glad to be back at it. There were only so many push ups and variations on yoga a person could do in their own home. He needed some other way to tire himself out.

A week passed. No more calls from Aziraphale. No more texts. The ones he had sent before sat unread in Crowley's phone, not forgotten, but ignored. Crowley would ignore them for as long as he could because even moving to delete them felt like too much. So Crowley let them linger as he moved on with his life.

There was something comforting about the fact that Aziraphale had finally shown his hand. Crowley had known all along he wasn't good enough for him. It was just that Aziraphale had finally realized the truth too. Crowley had dirty hands. A scarred face. Love was for other people. People who deserved it.

And even though his chest ached when he lingered too long on these thoughts, it was sort of satisfying to know that he'd been right all along. He hadn't been a complete idiot even if falling in love had been a mistake.

He growled at the carburetor he was working on and pushed the thought aside.

He wasn't in love. He'd just been caught up. The way he always got caught up. Caught up in drugs. Caught up in Luc.

It was the same truth over and over again. There was something hungry inside him that would never be satisfied. And maybe that was ok.

He didn't know.

So he got back to work.

And time passed the way it always did after a major upset. Some days easy. Some like walking through sludge. But Crowley walked.

He woke up. He went to work. He came home. He made sure food got in there somewhere. 

Eventually, Bee stopped looking at him like he might break in half at any second. Two Fridays after the incident, they put a supportive hand on his back, lingering for a moment before disappearing back into the dark, strains of _California Girls_ signaling their exit.

Crowley began to think he was lucky. He'd been through a lot. He'd gotten in a bit too deep this time around. Too hard too fast. 

But it wasn't Luc all over again. Because this time Crowley had not stuck around. Crowley hadn’t begged for forgiveness for something that wasn’t even his fault.

After the initial bleeding out, Crowley had realized his thoughts weren’t helpful. He was talking down to himself, blaming himself because Aziraphale had done something hurtful. But it wasn't his own fault. He knew that. Just like it wasn't his fault Luc had fallen off the wagon or tried to put his eye out.

He just needed to remember it.

All Crowley could do was be alright. And he was making a shot of it. Three weeks until Hastur and Ligur’s wedding. He was in charge of Hastur’s stag night while Bee had Ligur’s. He was trying his best to be happy for them, even if the romance sort of made him want to vomit in every direction at once.

He’d be a good friend. He’d get through it. Then it would be a new year. He’d track down a new recipe. Something complicated. Something that would wile away the hours until the clock ticked over.

It was a good plan. 

He was pondering this to himself, two weeks to practically the minute Aziraphale had kicked him to the curb, when Anathema Device walked into the garage.

Crowley had been removing a hubcap and he dropped it at the sight of her. The metal disk clanged against the floor as Crowley stared at her. Bee wasn't in so there was no music and all Crowley could hear was the scuff of Anathema’s boots and his own breathing.

She gave him a small smile and lifted up her hand, wriggling her fingers in a wave.

Crowley swallowed hard. "What are you doing here?" 

"I think you know why I'm here," Anathema said quietly, concerned brown eyes regarding him like she could read his damned mind.

"Leave then," Crowley said, turning back to his work. "I’m done."

"No," Anathema snapped, voice harsh enough that Crowley felt it warranted his attention. "Have you read any of his messages?"

Crowley arched a brow. "Didn't think he deserved the effort."

Anathema sighed and closed her eyes. They shut tight and a wrinkle appeared between her brows like she was utterly frustrated. "I know what he said was awful—"

"No shit."

She ignored him. "But you need to know he got fired from his last job when his boss found out he had a boyfriend."

A small bolt of understanding shocked through Crowley. He wished it hadn't. 

"He doesn't talk about it a lot and I think it hurt him more than he likes to say. But you know Aziraphale. He doesn't exactly talk about his feelings."

Crowley just stared at her. She sighed. "He's been a mess for the last two weeks. And maybe you can't forgive him. Maybe you shouldn't. But I just—hear him out, ok?"

Part of Crowley wanted to yell at her to get out. The other wanted to shake her down for information. Aziraphale was upset? Good.

He immediately quelled the vicious satisfaction at the piece of information. 

"I'll think about it," Crowley said dismissively.

Anathema searched his face with her too-knowing eyes and then nodded. "Alright. All I can ask."

She left.

And Crowley didn't get much work done for the rest of the day. His mind was all over the place and when he got home, he dropped onto his couch and pulled up the unread texts from Aziraphale. Six of them.

His curiosity had always been his downfall. And sod it all, Anathema had made him curious.

He read the last text. It had come in nearly a week after they’d last seen each other.

Thursday 8:12 PM

_Crowley, What happened last Saturday was completely about me, my own fears. It had nothing to do with you. I would hate for us to part ways and for you to think that I was ashamed of you in any way when that is the opposite of the truth. I hope you have a happy life._

Crowley looked at the screen for a long time and then scrolled up to the previous texts. 

Saturday 1:02 PM

_Crowley, please call me._

Saturday 5:33 PM

_Just please tell me you’re safe._

Sunday 6:06 AM

_The man we ran into was the chair of my department at Tadfield. I’m not out at work. I should have told you. I’m sorry._

Sunday 3:12 PM

_I conducted myself poorly please call me. You are the best thing that’s happened to me since I moved to Tadfield._

Monday 4:18 PM

_I called the garage and Bee shouted at me but said you’re alright. I’ll stop calling._

Crowley swallowed. It didn’t alleviate the swollen sensation in his throat. He swore. Was he really going to do this?

Of course he was. Sodding optimism and hope and sodding Molly’s voice in his head whispering, _worth the risk_.

_If you’re free tonight, I’d like to talk. Come to mine._

Crowley put his phone down and went downstairs. Either Aziraphale would come or he wouldn’t and Crowley wasn’t going to sit around waiting. He’d gotten that new door for the Bentley so he’d do some work on her. 

* * *

Aziraphale put on his shoes with shaking hands. Those shaking hands turned on his car which somehow, between traffic signals and left turns brought him to Crowley’s flat. When he finally turned off the ignition, he couldn’t manage to convince himself to get out of the car. Except he had to get out of the car. If he ever wanted to stop being a coward, he had to get out of the car.

Steps on gravel, steps on stairs. He knocked on Crowley’s door and looked at his hanging plant. Whatever had been there before—a bleeding heart—was dormant for the season, curled into the ground, hopefully to bloom again come next year.

He knocked again.

No answer. 

He pulled out his phone. There were no texts from Crowley but one from Anathema. A picture of a cat she was thinking of adopting. 

It seemed the world went on even when your heart was broken.

Perhaps Crowley had changed his mind. That would be quite fair given Aziraphale’s behavior. 

He took himself back down the steps, stomach growing heavier and heart hurting even worse. It had been two weeks. He supposed he would feel better eventually. It was hard to remember that when his chest felt so utterly cracked open, when his insides were two deep breaths from spilling out.

A loud clank and a curse drew his attention to the side door of the garage. It was propped open by a cinder block and low light spilled out into the dim evening, turning the cement and gravel the deepest indigo. 

Moth to flame, Aziraphale drifted to the open door and peered inside. Crowley was half folded onto the beat up front seat of the Bentley, cursing as he tried to work some sort of tool into the hinge of the door. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses and the overhead light, a naked bulb exposed out of a white plastic fixture, highlighted the gold of his irises. The harsh shadows cast his scar into sharp purple relief. It was strange that you could only see the scar from certain angles, that sometimes it was impossible to miss.

Aziraphale knocked on the doorframe. Seeing Crowley like this again after resigning himself to perhaps a random glimpse on the street made him feel drunk. He didn’t know what to do.

Crowley’s eyes locked with his and he dropped whatever he was holding. It fell against his thigh and he swore again, unfolding out of the car. Tight black jeans and half-laced boots, a black vest that hugged his body. 

Aziraphale remembered what it was like in those early days of their acquaintance, the way his hands ached to touch Crowley. This sensation was utterly familiar except now weighed with grief that tore at his throat. He was so gorgeous and he’d been Aziraphale’s, and now Aziraphale had ruined everything.

Crowley tugged a rag from his back pocket and wiped his fingers on the fabric, the movement making his arms flex and drawing attention to Crowley’s hands. Aziraphale closed his eyes. It was too much.

“You—you wanted to talk?” Aziraphale stammered, voice a bit too high.

Crowley sucked on his teeth. “I was pretty certain you had some talking you wanted to do.”

“Oh—oh,” Aziraphale said, stepping into the garage, drawn by Crowley’s presence. “Yes. I do. Did you read my messages?”

“Yup,” Crowley said, leaning his hip against the car and crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t tell the whole story I think.”

Aziraphale spied Crowley’s glasses, set atop a toolbox. He hadn’t put them on yet. He wasn’t hiding. That was a good sign. It had to be. 

Aziraphale gathered his nerves. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that in your message,” Crowley said flatly and Aziraphale pushed on. This would be hard. He’d known it the minute he’d gotten Crowley’s text. It’s why his hands were shaking, his heart crawling through his chest, slow and agonizing. He couldn’t be a coward anymore.

“The man we ran into was Gabriel Winger. He’s the head of the classics department at Tadfield.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Said that too.”

Every second was making this worse. He just had to say it. 

“I had been at my last position for a long—for a long time,” Aziraphale said through a slight hitch in his voice. It was a slow flaying, this confession. But there was no other way for it to be. “I was certain I would get a professorship. It had been my dream and the head of the department had alluded to the fact that I would in all likelihood achieve it.”

He paused and took a shaking breath. Take the leap. “I was happy, Crowley. I’d settled into a life I wanted and then I met a man. Who I loved and who I wanted in my life and I brought him to a faculty party because I was foolish and believed I knew how the world worked but I didn’t.”

He couldn’t look at Crowley. What would he see on that expressive face? Aziraphale’s shame was still sickly in his gut, churning like it always did when he tried to talk about this. Push through, push through.

“I got fired,” he breathed into the stark quiet of the garage. “Let go. They told me ‘I wasn’t a good fit for the position.’ I had to move for this job and my boyfriend didn’t want to make long distance work. He said he wasn’t—”

Aziraphale was going to say this, wasn’t he? It was a truth he’d shoved down so deep he never looked at it, never thought of it. He forced himself to look at Crowley. “He said he wasn’t that invested in the relationship in the first place. We’d been together nearly a year.”

Crowley’s hands fell to his sides and he dropped the rag in his hand.

Aziraphale kept talking. He had to. If he stopped, he’d never be able to drudge up the nerve again. “And running into Gabriel...my job is so important to me. It’s my life, Crowley. And it was entirely uprooted because I blindly loved someone who didn’t love me and I took a risk for them. I didn’t—I was afraid of it happening again.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders started to shake, his palms sweat. He was breathing hard and he realized he was crying just as the first sob took him.

“And I am sorry. I made you feel like I was ashamed of you. I’m not. I’m ashamed of me.”

Arms snaked around him and he was pulled against a hard chest, surrounded by the smell of dirt and oil and Crowley. He cried. He sobbed. Every single one of his thousand little heartbreaks flashed through his mind as his tears slowly dried up. 

“I understand,” Crowley said quietly, once Aziraphale’s breathing evened out. “But you can’t treat me like that.”

“I know, Crowley. I love you and I want—I want to do better by you,” Aziraphale said into his chest and then Crowley was pulling away, untangling them.

“Do you?” Crowley asked harshly and when Aziraphale looked at him, his eyebrows were drawn together, confusion and frustration mixed together on his expressive face.

“What?” Aziraphale said, disoriented and grieving the loss of Crowley’s body heat.

“Love me?” It was demanding and almost angry but Aziraphale saw the flash of vulnerability beneath it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied simply because, at this point, he could only manage the truth.

* * *

Casually. The bastard admitted to being in love with him _casually_. Apparent terror at defining their relationship cast aside with a ‘yes’ that implied _of course I am. Was that not clear?_

Crowley leaned his weight on two hands against the Bentley and tried to piece together his worldview. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?’ Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide, clearest blue in the overhead light. “Whatever you like I suppose. It’s yours.”

“Stupid,” Crowley said to the metal of the Bentley’s beat up rusted doors. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m angry with you,” Crowley shouted, more at the doors than at Aziraphale. “You can’t just —fuck. Fuck you.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything to that and when Crowley finally looked back at him, his lip was quivering. His pretty pink mouth. That sodding mouth. Crowley had once thought of it as a peach, something to bite. 

The desire was still there. Sharp teeth.

“I think that's reasonable,” Aziraphale said quietly. 

Aziraphale’s quiet acceptance drew the rage out of Crowley like poison from a wound, the echo of his frustration lingering at the edges as he realized it didn't matter. Aziraphale loved him. He still loved Aziraphale.

Crowley closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "Alright."

"Alright?" Aziraphale stammered and when Crowley looked at him, his heart still skipped.

Crowley finally moved, drifting closer to Aziraphale so he could touch him again. His hands were dirty but he didn’t care.

He cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him. It was the unexpected spark, the inexorable pull. Crowley sank into it, yanking Aziraphale against his body and kissing him as fiercely as he knew how. 

He pushed Aziraphale back against the frame of the Bentley. “You can’t treat me like that,” he breathed before beginning to undo Aziraphale’s waistcoat so he could slip his hands under it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped, head tipping back against the car. “I know. I won’t.”

Crowley kissed his neck, biting and soothing as he filled his hands with Aziraphale’s body. So stupidly perfect. 

Before he could work his hands under Aziraphale’s shirt, Aziraphale dropped to his knees, hands on Crowley’s flies, hurriedly working them open so he could take Crowley into his mouth. Crowley’s spine curled forward as his hands collided with the Bentley’s frame. 

It was messy and hurried and maybe Crowley was rougher than he normally would have been but Aziraphale took it. And after Crowley came, Aziraphale stood unsteadily and kissed him, whispering, “I missed you, love.”

Crowley still had work to do on the Bentley, but right then, all he wanted was to drag Aziraphale upstairs.

So he did.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator. thank you for cheerleading me through the end
> 
> CW: attempt to use sex as self-harm (doesnt happen)

For once, Aziraphale let Crowley lead. It was mad and strange and yet it filled Crowley with a tangible hope that nearly banked the frustration still smoldering inside him.

It had always been Aziraphale pushing him against the wall, kissing him, whispering filthy things. And then that one glorious time after Aziraphale came back from the conference and allowed Crowley to take him apart.

Crowley liked feeling wanted, liked Aziraphale’s dirty words and desperate hands. But sometimes, he wanted it to be like this.

His hands on Aziraphale’s broad chest. His fingers tugging at buttons. His knee pressed between beautiful plush thighs.

Blood roaring in his ears, lust and anger still mixing incoherently, Crowley pushed Aziraphale back on the bed and crawled between his legs. Aziraphale tugged uselessly at his shirt. Crowley was filthy from working downstairs and he wanted to see those stains on Aziraphale’s skin.

"Let me see you," Aziraphale whined, mirroring Crowley's thoughts as he gave another pathetic tug to Crowley's dirty vest.

Giving up, Crowley pulled it over his head and let Aziraphale run his hands over his chest as best he could while Crowley focused on removing his clothes. His efforts didn't last very long because as soon as he got Aziraphale’s prick in his hand, he was moaning and rocking up into him. He surged up Aziraphale’s body and kissed him brutally. "A little rough today, then?" He asked, twisting his wrist just enough to make Aziraphale cry out.

"Please," Aziraphale said, grasping at his arms hard enough to scratch. "I want to...I want to feel it."

And then Aziraphale was kissing him, hard and full of teeth.

"I love you and I want you to fuck me," he said as he rocked up into Crowley's hand.

Crowley reached for the lube in the side table as Aziraphale shimmied out of his trousers and pants, rolling onto his hands and knees and presenting his arse like the gift it was. Crowley dropped the lube onto the bed and palmed Aziraphale’s arse. Lovely thing. 

There would be time to rightfully appreciate it later.

He climbed onto the bed before coating his fingers in slick and pressing one inside Aziraphale with as much care as he could manage. He was hot against his hand, greedily accepting the intrusion. Crowley’s stomach skipped. He wanted to be inside him, remember what it felt like. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” Crowley said, the intensity of the feeling forcing him to stop. He could barely breathe through it. Aziraphale was here. Aziraphale was sorry. Aziraphale _loved_ _him._

"Faster," Aziraphale said, squirming under him and knocking Crowley back into reality. He suck in a breath.

"I want you to hurt me."

Aziraphale’s words were like cold water, flooding through every warm feeling inside Crowley. He froze and pulled away. "What?"

Aziraphale rolled onto his back, pretty cock flagging against his belly. "Don't you want to?"

"Hurt you?" Crowley asked, collapsing on his haunches. "No. Why the fuck—we just had a fight. I’m not going to _punish_ you."

"But downstairs," Aziraphale began, sitting up. "You were rough. I liked it."

"Well, I was being stupid,” Crowley said with a bit more force than necessary. He didn’t like Aziraphale’s implications. He wasn’t going to solve every fight with a fuck. He wasn’t going to _use_ him. He scowled and gestured for Aziraphale to move back. “Lay down against the pillows."

With a little scowl of confusion Aziraphale rearranged himself to do as Crowley asked. "Is that all?" he asked as he raised an eyebrow at Crowley, clearly disappointed that his little plan to get fucked hadn’t worked out.

"No. Because you're going to lay there and I'm going to make you feel good. None of this _hurt me_ nonsense."

"But I like it when you're rough," Aziraphale said petulantly. It was sort of frustrating. But also cute. His lip jutted out a little. Crowley kissed it.

"Maybe later then," Crowley said when he pulled back.

Aziraphale's protest faded into a surprised moan when Crowley took his half-hard cock into his mouth.

* * *

In the haze of his orgasm, Aziraphale struggled to pull Crowley up his body to kiss him until he couldn't anymore. Until he had to pause to breathe. Until Crowley's stubble scraped uncomfortably.

"Better than a rough fuck, dont you think?" Crowley observed nuzzling his hair.

Aziraphale hummed, absurdly happy that Crowley hadn’t changed his mind. That he still wanted to forgive him. To try again. "Much better. I’m sorry I pushed."

"Are you hungry?" Crowley asked after a while. "I've got leftovers I can put together."

Aziraphale pressed his nose into Crowley's chest and inhaled. Oil and apple soap.

"I could eat."

Aziraphale padded after Crowey, settling onto the stools in the kitchen and watching as Crowley made something for him to eat. It was domestic. Sweet. Something Aziraphale thought he had lost the right to ever see again.

"I love you," he said, because he had to lest his entire chest burst with the steadily growing feeling.

Crowley dropped the lid to the tupperware container he was holding and looked at Aziraphale. "You really mean that, don’t you?"

"Of course I do," Aziraphale said, confused. "I should have said it ages ago. I'm glad I've gotten the chance."

Crowley put the plate in the microwave and then came around the island to spin Aziraphale in his chair. He rested his hands on the worktop on either side of Aziraphale, bracketing him with his arms. Aziraphale’s heart raced absurdly and then Crowley was kissing him, his jaw. He tucked his nose into that place beneath Aziraphale's ear he seemed to love.

"I love you too," Crowley said into his neck.

Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath. He’d told Crowley how he felt because he needed to. Because it felt important in the wake of how badly he had hurt him. 

He hadn't expected Crowley to say it back.

The words echoed in the cavity of his chest, reverberating and filling him up. It almost hurt. 

"Oh," he said, at a loss for anything else.

Crowley loved him. He’d said it. Not under duress or in bed. He’d whispered it into Aziraphale’s skin while a microwave ran in the background, it’s steady hum making the words absurdly real.

The microwave beeped and Crowley pulled away. Aziraphale watched the shifting muscles in his back as he retrieved the plate. It set off butterflies in his stomach, a desire to hold and never let go.

And once Crowley had placed the food in front of him, he slipped into the chair opposite and waited. A soft expression stole over his face as Aziraphale ate. Quietly pleased. Utterly besotted.

Aziraphale hadn't realized how truly hungry he had been. He'd been too stressed to eat well over the last few weeks and Crowley's cooking was, as always, wonderful. 

Aziraphale was just settling into it when Crowley said, "I think we need to talk."

Aziraphale fork clattered against the plate. "About...about what?"

Crowley scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Your work. You're not out and I'm fine with that but I need to know what the lines are. So this doesn't happen again."

"Right," Aziraphale said, pushing away his plate. "I suppose you're right."

Crowley cocked his head and waited.

And so they talked.

* * *

_Three weeks later_

"Aziraphale I can’t tie the damn tie," Crowley said, releasing the ends of the stupid bow tie so that they flapped on either side of his collar. Why Aziraphale wore them every day he had no idea.

All he knew was that he'd kill anyone who tried to stop him.

It had been a good three weeks leading up to Hastur and Ligur’s wedding. A lot of talking. Plenty of shagging.

Crowley had been happy enough that Bee had decided Aziraphale could live. Which was good. Because Crowley loved him very much. A truly stupid amount. And having Aziraphale tell him he felt the same way every single day, send him equally stupid heart emojis, and sweet goodnight texts made him feel lucky and dumb and loved.

"Crowley, I can't hear you. You'll need to come to the door if you need something," Aziraphale called back through the open bathroom door.

Crowley drifted towards it and what he saw inside made him freeze, heart skipping about in his chest.

Aziraphale was shaving. With a straight razor.

He was shirtless and the bright lights of the bathroom highlighted the threads of silver in his chest hair, emphasizing the shadows under his chest and at his side, just above his hips. Crowley's favorite place to hold him. 

Sexy. He looked sexy.

Crowley’s stomach did a complex jump and twirl and his already tight pants grew a bit tighter. They did not have enough time for everything that was running through his mind. Namely, dropping to his knees in front of his half-naked boyfriend so he could kiss his wonderful belly and suck his cock.

Aziraphale turned to him, eyes wide and blue under the harsh lights. “Are you alright?”

His hair was so fluffy today. He must have used that mousse that made the curl a little tighter. Crowley liked the way it smelled. Like peaches.

"How have I never seen you use that before?" Crowley choked out, still floored by the very good view of Aziraphale with his face half lathered in shaving cream and his naked fucking chest which Crowley was still contemplating burying his face in. Or perhaps biting. 

"It’s only for special occasions."

Crowley managed to grunt in acknowledgment, leaning against the doorjamb so he could linger and just…enjoy the vision that was Doctor Aziraphale Fell in his own house wearing only trousers. 

Aziraphale put down the razor even though he was only half done and turned to him fully, eyes going liquid in that way that meant he was absurdly happy. "And don't you look handsome."

Crowley supposed he looked alright. He didn’t get dolled up very often. Wasn’t exactly his scene. But he’d put on tailored, charcoal gray trousers and waistcoat with a nice white shirt. Judging by the look on Aziraphale’s face, it was doing _something_ for him.

"No," Crowley said warningly and then he waved Aziraphale off as he approached. "No. You'll mess up my suit."

Aziraphale pouted but returned his attention to the mirror and that's when Crowley got the real show.

Aziraphale’s forearms went taut as he moved the razor over his skin in steady strokes. Each one revealed a stripe of shining smooth skin. It was going to feel amazing under Crowley’s mouth when he finally got the chance to ravish him at some point during the day. Probably sooner rather than later knowing Aziraphale’s inability to keep his hands to himself.

"Jesus Christ," Crowley breathed, unable to move as he watched the living art that was Aziraphale shaving with a straight razor. The perfect mix of masculine and fussy and it had Crowley aching to be closer. 

Aziraphale patted his face down and then turned back to Crowley. The bastard was smirking.

"Not that I don't appreciate you wanking"— _oi!_ —"while watching me shave. I believe you needed something?" Aziraphale prompted, snatching his undershirt from the counter and tugging it over his head. Crowley tried not to show his disappointment at the sudden disappearance of Aziraphale’s skin. Though he supposed it wasn’t too bad. He’d always liked the way Aziraphale looked in a tight white shirt.

Crowley yanked his bow tie out from under his collar and held it out. "Don't know how to tie the blasted thing."

Aziraphape clucked his tongue, eyes affectionate. "Whatever would you do without me."

"Be a sodding mess," Crowley said softly as Aziraphale wrapped the tie back around his neck, fingers moving confidently and brushing his Adam’s apple. 

"I'm sure you'd manage," Aziraphale assured him with a final tug of the bow. Crowley snagged a kiss before he could step away. 

"Yeah. Glad you're here anyway."

Aziraphale's expression softened. "I am too, darling."

Aziraphale pushed him out of the bathroom. "Now let me finish getting ready so we can leave. You're far too tempting in that suit."

"Oh, like what you see then?" Crowley said with a wiggle of his brows.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and shut the door in his face.

* * *

Crowley's friends were not getting married in a church. Which was a good thing because Aziraphale was having some very blasphemous thoughts about the way Crowley looked in his three piece suit.

He’d taken him to his tailor after Crowley had admitted, a bit embarrassed, that he'd never bought a suit before. 

The charcoal suit with its black bow tie made Crowley's shoulders look broad, the waistcoat emphasizing the thin length of his torso. It also made Aziraphale want to push him up against the nearest wall so he could whisper, in detail, everything he wanted to do to him.

And his hair. He'd done something lovely with it. Pushing it up and back, away from his face. He’d also decided to wear his sunglasses and the grooms hadn't cared.

Aziraphale supposed the benefit of having quirky friends was that they in turn let you be quirky.

When they got to the venue—the ballroom of a small hotel downtown—Aziraphale kissed Crowley a bit too thoroughly in the front seat of his Astra before they climbed out to join the gathering crowd.

Crowley disappeared after giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and a rather smoldering glare that made Aziraphale shiver. He was going to have Crowley fuck him in that suit before the day was out. That much was certain.

Aziraphale puttered into the ballroom to find a seat among the gathered guests. It was only about twenty people, a rather small affair.

And as Aziraphale went to take a seat he was stopped by a booming voice, "Aziraphale! What a surprise!"

Stomach turning to lead, Aziraphale looked up and greeted Gabriel. This was awful timing. He and Crowley had discussed the finer points of his career but how was he supposed to explain why he was at a gay wedding with a man.

Then he realized Gabriel was also at a gay wedding.

"What—what are you doing here?"

Gabriel smiled at him even as a small confused wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. "I'm here with—oh! Bee! Did you invite Aziraphale?."

Bee trotted over. They were also in a suit, a tiny mirror of Crowley's except their bow tie was red.

"What?" they asked.

Gabriel put his arm around then, easy as anything, as Aziraphale stared at him in shock.

"Hey, sunshine," Bee drawled, shaking off Gabriel’s arm which didn't seem to put him out at all. In fact, he smirked a little when Bee leaned into him slightly. "Here with Crowley then?"

"Er, I—" Aziraphale glanced around. How was he supposed to handle this? He needed to handle it better than before but the room felt like it was closing in. There was no good lie. _Oh, never mind me Gabriel. I’m at a gay wedding with my mechanic. Why yes, we’re just friends!_

The universe made the decision before him because Crowley trotted up beside him. “Oi, angel. Do you have any safety pins? Hastur ripped his jacket but won’t tell me how.”

Torn between horror and confusion, Aziraphale stammered, “Safety pins? I...why would I have _safety pins_?”

“I dunno,” Crowley said with a scowl that gave him that cute little line on his forehead. “You’re the one that carries plasters in their wallet. Prepared for any eventuality and all.”

Aziraphale’s throat was closing up as he stared at Crowley helplessly. He could see his face reflected in Crowley’s black lenses, pale and distressed. 

And then Gabriel, bull in a china shop, inconsiderate American with no sense of propriety _Gabriel_ stuffed his hand between them and unfurled his palm, revealing three shiny safety pins. Aziraphale gaped at them. Crowley snatched them with an easy smile. “Thanks, mate.”

Then he looked at Gabriel and the smile froze. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 

“Crowley, is it?” Gabriel said, jovial voice almost piercing. Bee was somehow still tucked up by his side, black eyes hard as they watched the exchange. 

“Guh...yeah,” Crowley said. He looked ready to bolt and Aziraphale didn’t know what to do.

“It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Bee,” Gabriel said, broad hand brushing Bee’s shoulder affectionately. It was unbelievable to watch, a golden retriever grooming a black cat. And the cat _letting_ them.

Bee elbowed him meaningfully.

Gabriel frowned down at them and then cleared his throat. "Actually,” he said, turning his attention to Aziraphale. “I'd been meaning to talk to you since—well, I don't know how to say this but you should know that Tadfield University values diversity. Of all kinds. So you shouldn't...uh. Worry. About that."

Aziraphale stared at him, feeling as if his knees may give out. If he was reading that right, Gabriel didn't—Gabriel didn't care.

All these years hiding and worried and Gabriel didn't care

Before Aziraphale could say anything, before he could even begin to process, Crowley’s hand was wrapped around his arm and tugging at him. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said meaningfully, practically dragging Aziraphale away.

Aziraphale watched numbly as Gabriel kissed Bee on the head and they swatted at him, grumbling, “Stop that, you prick.”

What a strange day.

* * *

Aziraphale looked like he was about to sick up so Crowley pulled him away from his coworker and into the bathroom. He had some questions. A gazillion questions. First and foremost:

“Are you alright?” he asked, running his hands down Aziraphale’s arms once the door to the bathroom shut behind them.

Aziraphale took in a shuddering breath. “I feel a bit like I’ve been punched in the stomach. Did that really just happen?”

“The weirdly veiled ‘it’s fine if you’re gay’ thing or the fact that Bee was here with him. Because yes to both.”

Bee was here with that runway model wannabe American. Dating him apparently. Letting him kiss them on the head and not burning him alive for it. 

Crowley was going to give them so much shit. 

Aziraphale slumped against him, letting his forehead come to rest on Crowley’s shoulder. “I cannot believe this. Five years, Crowley. Five years waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

His voice was wavering and Crowley’s heart constricted. He wrapped his arms around him. "I’m sorry you had to go through all that. All that contorting and lying for nothing."

Aziraphale pulled away entirely, tugging on his waistcoat. He was wearing a rather nice suit. Much more posh than his usual, a deep blue bow tie and a white waistcoat. Crowley wanted to unwrap him. He knew Aziraphale was wearing black braces. He’d seen him put them on. He couldn’t wait to see them again.

“No. I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, glancing away. His nervous habit. “Everything that happened...it was all just a misunderstanding.”

Crowley cocked his head. He supposed that was true, but it didn’t matter now. It was done. They were moving past it. He took Aziraphale's hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "It's fine. I'm not angry."

Aziraphale’s lip quivered. Then he threw his arms around Crowley, the sudden weight threw him off balance and Crowley stumbled. He held Aziraphale for a moment, letting the nerves and anxiety shake out of him. Once his breathing evened out, he ran one hand down Aziraphale’s back, enjoying the silky feel of the back of his waistcoat. "Not that I don't like this. But you're wrinkling my shirt. I'll look terrible in the pictures."

Aziraphale laughed and snuffled a little before untangling himself from Crowley.

"I can’t believe Bee is dating him,” Aziraphale said, snagging a few paper towels to dab at his eyes.

Crowley couldn't stop the mad grin taking over his face."Oh I know. It’s fucking fantastic. I am not going to let them live this down. All that mocking for dating a professor and now here they are

Aziraphale swatted at him. "Be nice. They seem happy."

"Oh, I'll be nice," Crowley said under his breath as they left the bathroom together.

* * *

The ceremony was unsurprisingly nondenominational. Extremely surprisingly emotional. Both Hastur and Ligur cried.

The spectacle didn’t do much to distract Aziraphale from how handsome Crowley looked standing up with them. He wanted to kiss him again. Peel off his clothes. Though perhaps leave the tie on. Or most of the suit. Just a little artfully unruffled.

Aziraphale tried not to fall too deep into that fantasy. It was undeniably a bit too dirty for the romance at hand.

Regardless, it was a happy affair and he got to dance with Crowley. See him laughing with his friends. Hold his hand without being afraid.

It was what Aziraphale had expected and yet somehow even better.

What Aziraphale had not expected was to be fucked in a broom cupboard near the hotel reception desk but he also wasn't surprised. They'd had trouble keeping their hands off each other from the start and the way Crowley kept murmuring endearments had driven Aziraphale mad.

What _had_ surprised him was Crowley producing a packet of lube from his pocket with a tiny smirk that Aziraphale had promptly kissed away. Beautiful man. Gorgeous man.

Crowley's hand was currently fisted in his hair, holding him in place as he fucked him slowly. 

As they'd started shagging more regularly, Aziraphale had learned something delightful. Crowley liked being held down, liked Aziraphale taking charge and being strong. But Crowley liked taking care of him even more.

He liked when they could spend hours in bed. He liked drawing orgasms out of Aziraphale over and over until Aziraphale couldn't move. He liked fucking him long and slow.

And he loved when Aziraphale talked him through it.

"Oh, love," Aziraphale gasped, grasping the metal rack of cleaning products. It shook when Crowley thrust particularly hard and he cried out. "Deeper. I want you deeper."

Crowley rearranged him easily, grasping his nape and pushing him down until he was folded further over. He snapped his hips just right, making Aziraphale see stars.

"Fuck, you feel so good, darling. So good to me. I couldn't stop thinking about this. I watched you up there in that suit. Wanted to tear it off."

Crowley let out a low rumble that Aziraphale knew meant he approved. "I wanted to fuck you while you wore that handsome bow tie."

Crowley continued to move his hips and Aziraphale's words turned into something incomprehensible. Certainly declarations of love and need and everything Aziraphale was feeling until he was coming onto the concrete floor with a pained groan.

Crowley finished inside him and then slammed him face first into the wall so he could fall to his knees and clean him with his tongue. Aziraphale had also learned that Crowley liked this. Soothing where he'd just been brutal. Kissing away any soreness.

Aziraphale had no idea if he liked it but he loved that Crowley did. And he thought he was learning to like it too.

When Aziraphale finally squirmed away, far too stimulated, Crowley rose to his feet and kissed him, bitter and salty. Aziraphale melted into him, feeling loved.

Crowley smirked against his mouth before pulling away. He tugged on Aziraphale's open waistcoat. "Got you all messy."

Aziraphale shot him an unimpressed look as he used a paper towel to clean himself up. He tugged up his trousers. "Yes, yes. And you love it."

"Love you," Crowley said firmly and Aziraphale’s heart nigh on gave out at the soft expression on his face. He couldn’t stop his smile. 

"Well, you're certainly wrinkled now," Aziraphale retorted playfully, tweaking Crowley's tie.

"Pictures are over though," Crowley said, helping Aziraphale with his braces and stealing a kiss in the process.

"Should we return to the festivities?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shook his head. "Let’s go. I don't think they'll miss us. It's just everyone getting drunk."

Aziraphale's chest warmed. Soon they'd be back home. 

"Let's get out of here then."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter! i updated twice today so don't miss 23
> 
> beta'ed by seekwill and LoudAlligator. All the love in the world to you.

_By pleasure we mean the absence of pain in the body and of trouble in the soul. - Epicurean philosophy_

_Three weeks after_

“I’m not saying it’s a total loss. I’m just saying you need a new car and that the one you have might explode,” Crowley insisted, one arm around Aziraphale where they were nestled in the corner of one of Bee’s couches.

Annual New Year’s party. Of all people, Bee threw a New Year’s party. Aziraphale tried not to judge but they certainly didn’t seem like the party throwing kind.

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale said dismissively. “I know what you think: new year, new car. But I was thinking...instead....New year, new cat.”

“A cat?” Crowley said incredulously. “Is this because Anathema got that mongrel?”

“Warlock is not a mongrel!” Aziraphale insisted. “Just because he doesn’t like you doesn’t mean he isn’t a sweetheart.”

Crowley groaned. “If you get a cat, I’m going to be there when you choose. I’m not letting you get something that tears at my trousers and bites my fingers. Like a _mongrel_.”

Gabriel’s laugh boomed from the corner of the room and Aziraphale had to physically force himself not to recoil. It was rather absurd that he’d be spending time with the man now that their personal lives intersected. He supposed he would just have to get used to it.

“So have you talked to Bee about it yet?” Aziraphale asked.

“About what?” Crowley asked, tearing his eyes away from where Hastur and Ligur were making out in the kitchen.

“Gabriel. The whole dating thing,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley tipped his head back and let out a laugh, an honest to goodness guffaw. “They won’t say shit. But every time I bring it up? Red as a beet.”

Aziraphale smiled and leaned into him. “At least they’re happy,” he observed.

“Funny,” Crowley said, the word rumbling through the place where their bodies touched.

“What’s funny?”

“That’s what Bee says about us.”

* * *

_Six months after_

“Do you think Bee would like a silver ring?” Gabriel asked, scowling at his computer screen.

Aziraphale and he were getting on better but he still struggled to think of them as _friends_. “I’m not sure if I—”

“You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself,” Gabriel said with a laugh that Aziraphale now knew him well enough to recognize as strained and false. It was humanizing and sometimes Aziraphale hated that he knew that.

Oh well. Crowley loved Bee and it seemed Bee loved Gabriel. Aziraphale would put up with it.

Turning his full attention to Aziraphale, Gabriel smiled wide. “So! Professorship. How does it feel?”

Aziraphale relaxed. Onto professional topics. “Fantastic. It’s been a dream of mine for a very long time.”

Gabriel’s smile turned oddly genuine. “Let’s take a look at your schedule for next year. Do you want to move offices?”

Aziraphale pulled out his notebook and slipped on his glasses. “I have quite a few ideas.”

“Good old Aziraphale. Always prepared,” Gabriel said proudly, almost indulgently. And much to his own shock, Aziraphale didn’t want to punch him for it. 

* * *

_18 months after_

"The strawberries are looking very good,'" Aziraphale said from the table when Crowley walked into the kitchen.

He hummed and went to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. He looked over at Aziraphale, doing his marking at the table, little glasses on his nose. Practically perfect in the warm morning light.

He sidled up behind him and kissed his head, pleased when Aziraphale leaned back into him.

The garden had been doing nicely. 

Aziraphale had been the one to urge him to start it about six months after he moved in. _You're always on about your potted plants. If you start a garden you can have all sorts of fresh things. I know how much you like fresh tomatoes, love._

So Crowley had started a garden and found out quickly that Aziraphale was right.

There was something about sinking his hands into the earth. Something about caring for something that bore fruit.

Even if sometimes working next to Aziraphale's fence—their fence—kneeling next to the birdbath, cleaning out the old shed, Crowley still felt like an interloper. And then Aziraphale would wander outside and smile at him. And Crowley realized this was his white picket fence, his open shutters, his television perfect life.

Except it wasn't quite like that. Nothing pristine about it. Messy edges that always needed mending. And that made it better. That made it real.

But he had his Bentley in Aziraphale's garage, a windscreen away from being road ready. He had his garden. He had Aziraphale. And that was more than he thought he’d ever have.

So maybe a perfect life looked something like this:

A line of carrot shoots, freshly fertilized, the winding of a cat tail into the shadows inside a beloved house. It looked like the sheen of condensation on a cool glass in summer, the press of a hand on an elbow. A short kiss.

“Do you think we should bring some to Anathema’s?” Aziraphale asked, putting down his pen and leaning into Crowley’s hip where he was still stood beside him, looking out the window over the backyard.

“What?”

“The strawberries?” Aziraphale repeated. “To the party tonight. I’ll help you pick them this afternoon. After I finish up with these essays.”

Crowley slid into the other chair. “Nah. I can take care of it. Bit too muddy I think for both of us to be traipsing around out there.”

“I don’t mind a bit of dirt,” Aziraphale huffed, fixing him with his favorite long suffering look. 

Crowley laughed and looked back out the window. “I know you don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank everyone enough for the support I've gotten on this fic. What started out as an exercise in thirst turned into something with a TON of feeling. Who knew?
> 
> come hang out on [tumblr](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/)
> 
> as always, thanks for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr [here](https://summerofspock.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Faulty Start](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23846602) by [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock)




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